All We Do Is Save The Galaxy
by ThePetulantPen
Summary: After ceaselessly hunting Thanos for two years our heroes face a conflict of purposes as the stress of their chosen mission threatens to break their fragile chains of family. Story occurs between Vol. 2 and Infinity War and is set to the sonic musings of Awesome Mix Vol. 3! Chapter Four UPDATE: The happy past seems to return again in the conclusion of "The Tales of Paradise Park."
1. What Doesn't Kill You

_**Author's**_ ** _Note_ :** I won't be doing many notes like this because I think it detracts from the overall flow of the story, but for the first chapter I think it's important to explain some things. This story takes place between Vol. 2 and Infinity War, the actual time will be detailed further on in the story so I won't spoil all of that here. But most of the first three chapters were at least partly written before I saw Infinity War. So while Thanos only plays a background role in this story, his motivations as explained by the characters may not exactly square with what's detailed in the film. It's just a small thing but I wanted to point that out before someone pointed it out too me.

Now onto the fun part, this story has music! Whenever a song appears in the text, written as ( **Awesome Mix Vol. 3:** Band Name - Song Name) the idea is to play the song while reading the text. All of the songs should be on YouTube and my recommendation is to find the version published by YouTube themselves when available, usually listed under the channel name "YouTube Topic". Sometimes the songs play within the story, i.e. the characters are listing to it as you are. Other times the music acts as my version of score. But almost always the songs are commenting on what's happening through their lyrics and themes.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy it!

Any reviews are always appreciated.

* * *

Chapter One: What Doesn't Kill You...

 **Awesome Mix Vol. 3:** Steely Dan – Do It Again

Half a mile of circular steel, Luminary station shines against the black backdrop of the cosmos as it reflects the blue brilliance of its stellar neighbor. Its design, a pinwheel with three spokes, spins with calculated purpose, simulating gravity inside. The halls within are clinically clean, free of dust or dirt, as if hands of any kind have never touched it since construction.

All of this was true for over three million cyclical rotations.

And all of this changed about thirty minutes ago.

Now red lights flash, klaxon horns blare, and the smell of burnt electronics fills the carefully controlled atmosphere. The reactor at the central hub, a large device powered by the fission of atoms, shakes and blares with its own warnings. A timer on a computer screen nearby counts down the seconds till a very explosive end.

And in the hallway of spoke number one, just outside the reactor room, Rocket is starting to get pissed off.

"I AM SICK AND TIRED" he bellows as the butt of his rifle lashes out to sever the head of a charging security mech, "OF ALL THESE DAMN ROBOTS!"

"I agree" says Drax as he tackles another mech to the ground and rips its chest open with his bare hands. "These mechanical constructs are irksome, but rest and medicine must come later" he says, tearing out the internal circuitry of the machine with one quick motion. Looking up and towards the small horde of machines still charging towards them he yells, declaritivly "but now is the time for killing!"

"You ain't _killing_ nothing" says Peter, ejecting a smoking hot cylinder from his pistol as he does so. Reloading it, he fires another superheated bolt of plasma through an advancing mech. "We're the only things living on this station Drax."

One of the mechs, rolling forward on its tripod legs, attempts to bring a heavy metal arm down on top of Rocket, but with a quick blast from his rifle, arm and machine are sent flying backwards instead. Rocket sighs as he looks upon the still advancing machines, complaining "we must have killed a hundred of these things by now."

"One hundred and one" adds Peter, cutting another one down with a quick burst from his pistol.

"Right, it just gets repetitive you know? A whole army of faceless machines just ain't as satisfying to kill as Thanos's other goons."

Drax cuts the torso from the wheeled base of another machine, sending its halves crashing in two separate directions. "One hundred and two" he says with satisfied emphasis.

"Ugh, just kill smash kill" mutters Rocket as his rifle spits fire down the corridor, turning three more mechs into scrap metal. "It's just so impersonal; there isn't no fun in it!" He reloads his rifle, "I dunno, are you guys with me on this?"

Peter continues down the hallway, pistol raised at his side. "I'm not having this conversation right now" he says, raising a hand up to his ear. "Gamora, how's it going?" he calls into his communicator.

"Minimal resistance, these machines are hardly more than a nuisance" comes her voice, intercut with the sound of smashing machinery.

"That's great, just what I like to hear, _no complaints_ " he says, raising his voice in emphasis on the last few words so the others behind him can hear. "So, I'll see you back at the Milano?"

"I'll be there Peter," she says, the sound of her sword slicing through another hapless drone interrupting her for a moment. "Just have to make one quick stop first."

"Uh, wait, no that is not what I like to hear" he responds, cupping his hand over his ear. "Rocket's set the reactor to blow in like ten minutes; I don't think you have time for sightseeing!"

"I've got time" she says matter-of-factly, "and I'm not sightseeing! Just get yourselves to the ship, I'll be there."

"Gamora, wait, hold on" he tries in vain, but the line stays silent. "Unbelievable" huffs Peter angrily as he turns towards Rocket and asks "how long do we have?"

Rocket taps at a small holographic screen on his wrist, "eight minutes till the reactor goes critical. After that, we may have a few minutes before it actually blows."

Peter returns his hand to the communicator "I know you can still hear me Gamora, you've got eight minutes or so till boom time. Whatever you gotta do, do it quick!"

"That goes for us too" adds Peter, dropping his hand away from his ear to grab his second pistol from its holster. "We've got about a quarter mile to go until we get to the outer ring, then another quarter till the ship dock. Hopefully, Mantis and Groot aren't having any trouble defending the Milano."

Drax kicks a fallen mech, sending it careening down the hallway and crashing into the next wave of approaching robots. "They shouldn't with this enemy."

As Rocket unloads a fierce volley of fire into the oncoming machines, he asks "so, back to the important questions. Are killing these things fun? Me personally, I miss the tactile qualities of real, thinking baddies."

Peter downs another two with carefully placed shots to the midsection before rolling his eyes at Rocket. "Killing people ain't fun" he insists, "it ain't supposed to be. Besides, most of these bots don't have weapons, and the ones that do can't aim for shit. Are you telling me you'd rather be up against something that can fight back?"

"What I'm saying is," Rocket cuts down the last few machines making their way towards them with a burst from his rifle, "is that there's a little nuance to these things. It figures you wouldn't understand the finer things in life" he says as he ejects the spent cartridge from his rifle, "or death rather." Falling in line behind Peter as they advance further down the hallway he suddenly asks "but really Quill, you haven't enjoyed killing someone sometime?"

Peter pauses in his tracks, causing Drax and Rocket to come to a halting stop behind him. As if mulling the question over he rolls his pistol around in his hand. "Ok" he finally concedes, "killing people is _sometimes_ fun."

"Ah-ha I knew it!" cackles Rocket as they continue forward once more. Turning to Drax walking beside him he asks "what about you big guy? I'm fishing for opinions here, throwing out a net."

Drax stares at him angrily and says "I will not be caught, whether by net or words you will not ensnare me!"

Rocket shakes his head, trying to explain, "remember when we say you have problems understanding what the hell we're talking about sometimes? This is one of those times. I just want your opinion man."

"Oh" mutters Drax, turning his face away from Rocket. After a moment he whispers out of the side of his mouth "so, you do not have a net to capture me with?"

"NO!" exclaims Rocket, "I just want to know how you feel about killing things!"

To this, Drax answers instantaneously. "If the battle is fair, the opponent worthy, and the circumstances just, it is the second best feeling in life."

"Dam straight" says Rocket, "you hear that Quill? Drax is behind me all the way, none of this 'well maybe sometimes' crap!"

Peter cocks his head to the right and asks over his shoulder "you said killing was the second best thing in life Drax. What's the first?"

He again answers without hesitation. "The smile on a friend's face, or the touch of a loved one."

Peter stops and smiles broadly at him. "That was my answer too" he says. Glancing at Rocket he adds, "sounds like it's _you_ that needs help learning the finer things in life."

Rocket rubs the bridge of his long angular nose with his paw, muttering "never before has so cool of a conversation turned so stupid, so fast."

~oOo~

Gamora runs down the second spoke of Luminary station, attacking her foes with precision.

In front of door number 54J; Gamora spears two of the mechanical machines together with her sword.

In front of door number 50L; Gamora cuts the head off of three of them with one stroke.

In front of door number 45K; Gamora is starting to get bored.

In nearly two years of work they had destroyed five full sized stations, numerous other outposts, killed thousands of his henchpeople, and cost Thanos untold billions of units. She is proud of that record, prouder of it than anything else she had ever done. It isn't enough to balance all the red in her ledger, but it is a start. So why did this one, the sixth full sized station, first in nearly four months of searching, feel so different. It didn't, if she could find the words, feel important enough.

"But now is not the time for those thoughts" she thinks to herself as she passes door number 43A at a run.

Now is the time for action.

And in front of door number 42DA, she finds her answer.

Coming to a stop before it, she studies her surroundings. The door and the room behind it, visible through two windows, seem as unremarkable as all the others she had passed by in the last few minutes. But when she had gotten a look at the main computer while Rocket was setting the reactor to blow, all useful information had pointed towards this room. Cryptic messages of future plots, slave camps, even Thanos's designs on entire worlds emanated out of here. "With that kind of information the progress they could make in dismantling his plans could increase exponentially," she thinks to herself. So when the door retracts into the ceiling with a simple press of the button, Gamora is immediately wary.

"If it looks like a trap" she recites, pulling out a device with a small holographic screen Rocket had manufactured, "it probably is a trap."

She presses a button on the back of the contraption and then lets it go. Held aloft by an anti-gravity field, it hovers in the air as it shoots out pulses of blue energy all around the room. In only a few seconds it is done, the device's display detailing the only security feature in the room, a single ankle high laser tripwire just behind the doorframe.

Instead of making her feel better the single tripwire puts her more on edge. "This isn't right" she mutters, "it is not like him to be so careless." But Rocket built his toys well, and if it didn't detect any other traps she was sure there were none. So with the countdown clock Peter had given her running in the back of her mind, she steps gingerly inside.

The first half of the room is entirely empty, nothing between the floor and ceiling but empty space. In the second half however, dozens of physical servers all intricately linked together feed into a massive computer nearly the size of the one in the reactor room. Hurrying over she looks around for a way to activate it and finding an ON switch on the bottom left side of the interface, flicks it. The machine whirs into life, the servers behind it lighting up in sequence.

The display lights up and information begins to scroll down the screen, more of it than she could ever have imagined. Locations of bases, names of informants throughout the Xandarian, Kree, even Terran governments. Several different slave camps, all harboring thousands of captured peoples.

Her thoughts race wildly, in time with her searching eyes. "With this we could really make a difference, maybe even stop Thanos before he started his end game!" She didn't know when _that_ was coming, but she could feel it, he was in more of a hurry than ever before. Reaching down and removing from her belt another one of Rocket's contraptions, a data storage device with an unusually large capacity, she plugs it into a corresponding slot on the front of the machine. It begins to download its contents, and now with a moment to spare, she studies the information still scrolling past her.

 ** _Entry_ :** Forward Operations position Alpha, Irregular Globular Cluster, Quadrant sixteen  
 _Crew_ : 120  
 _Current Mission_ : Disrupt trade routes sixteen and fourteen through Quadrant sixteen  
 _Upcoming Duties_ : Raid Museum of Ancient History on Sklyjak IV, recover information on [REDACTED]

 ** _Entry_ :** Informant Level 6, Xandar, Intelligence Gathering Division  
 _Current Mission_ : File weekly reports with Section Head [REDACTED]  
 _Upcoming Duties_ : Monitor local elections, influence results in favor of candidate [REDACTED]

 ** _Entry_ :** Political Prisoner Relocation Camp, Halifax System, Quadrant two  
Prisoners: 369  
Update: Twelve prisoners killed in escape attempt. Commandant retired due to inefficient management. New Commandant [REDACTED] installed. Regular operations resumed.

"Political prisoners, I wonder what that could mean" Gamora asks herself rhetorically. Ignoring the angry thoughts that threaten to clutter her mind she continues to read the dispatches.

 ** _Entry_ :** Forward Operations position Alpha, Irregular Globular Cluster, Quadrant sixteen  
 _Crew_ : 120  
 _Current Mission_ : Disrupt trade routes sixteen and fourteen through Quadrant sixteen  
 _Upcoming Duties_ : Raid Museum of Ancient History on Sklyjak IV, recover information on [REDACTED]

 ** _Entry_ :** Informant Level 6, Xandar, Intelligence Gathering Division  
 _Current Mission_ : File weekly reports with Section Head [REDACTED]  
 _Upcoming Duties_ : Monitor local elections, influence results in favor of candidate [REDACTED]

"Wait a minute" says Gamora, studying the screen in rising levels of confusion. "These are the same reports."

 ** _Entry_ :** Political Prisoner Relocation Camp, Halifax System, Quadrant two  
Prisoners: 369  
Update: Twelve prisoners killed in escape attempt. Commandant retired due to inefficient management. New Commandant [REDACTED] installed. Regular operations resumed.

"I don't understand" she begins to say, but then her eyes light upon something that had gone unnoticed in her haste. On top of the display's right side, a small device with a glass eye stares out at her, unblinking.

A camera.

"If it feels like a trap-" Gamora yanks her storage device out of the machine and sprints for the door, but in an instant it slams closed in front of her. Crashing into it, she removes her sword from her belt and cuts into the door with all her strength. But the metal is too dense; all her sword manages is several light gouges. Cursing herself for her carelessness she searches for another means of escape.

From behind her the computer suddenly makes a loud whirring and buzzing noise. All of the many servers begin to hum and rattle, visibly radiating heat outwards as they overheat. Rocket's toy had technically been right; there wasn't a trap in this room, not one that it could detect anyways. But if those servers overheated to the point of failure, anything foolish enough to be in this room would be perforated with the shrapnel caused by their explosive ends.

Unfortunately for Gamora, she was the fool in the room.

Coming upon the rightmost window, three inches thick of many layers of tempered glass, she takes the butt of her sword and pounds against it furiously. The first layer cracks in a spider's web of crisscrossing lines, but there is still a dozen or more layers between her and the outside. Redoubling her efforts she pounds on the window again and again, slowly chipping away at its integrity.

Glass fragments dig into her hand as she continues smashing her way through layer after layer of the window's glass. With the servers glowing red hot the heat inside the room is reaching near unbearable levels, plastering her hair to her forehead in a layer of sweat and powdered glass. Suddenly, her communicator crackles into life "how did you make its head explode like that?" comes Peter's voice through the line.

"Great, he must have accidentally activated his communicator" runs Gamora's inner monologue in-between another desperate sword stroke.

"It's not a trade secret! You just don't want to tell me" Peter says to someone, presumably Rocket.

"This is last thing I'm going to hear before I'm cooked alive!?" she rants to herself, the heat of the room having long since made speaking impossible.

"Anyways, Drax, I tried to ask her to dance at this bar on Knowhere about a week ago, but she said she didn't want to. Said something about studying trade patterns, I dunno."

Despite the stifling heat Gamora snarls audibly as she hits the window again with surprising force. "Those trade patterns were the key to understanding the location of this station" she thinks to herself as she pounds desperately on the glass.

"But she is a dancer Drax! I probably shouldn't be telling you that but it's true." Gamora involuntarily stops her attack mid-swing, listening. "When she does dance she's great at it, she's like a natural! And, I don't know, when we dance, it's like nothing else much matters. In those moments, life is simple ya know?"

Gamora takes several steps back from the window, eyes lowered and thinking.

"Nah Rocket, if life was nothing but that, the moments wouldn't be moments anymore; they'd just be normal life."

Gamora flips her sword around in her hand, and rearing back, throws it like a javelin towards the window. It buries itself up to the hilt, its point sticking through to the other side.

"People are people, Gamora is Gamora."

Backing up until the heat from the servers starts to sear the clothing on her back, she runs towards the window and dives towards it, legs first.

"And I'm me. That's the way it otta be."

Impacting the window at a diving run, the hole made by her sword breaks open and Gamora passes through in a torrent of broken glass. Sliding across the hallway on her back she comes to a sudden stop against the far wall, gasping in a large lungful of air after the long exertion.

"You've got to like someone for who they are."

The servers inside the room explode in a shower of superheated projectiles, detonating what's left of the window in a shower of crystalline shards. Gamora covers her face.

"And I, well, Gamora means something to me."

She can feel the bite of the glass as it digs into her forearm, only superficial wounds though as the rain of projectiles finally stops.

"If that _means_ anything, it means-"

Gamora raises a hand to her earpiece, "Peter" she breathes.

Silence on the line for a few moments, then "oh hey Gamora, what's up?"

"It's a trap."

Silence again for a few moments, "ok, can you be more specific?"

"We need to go. Thanos guessed we were coming, it's been a trap the-"

-The ground rises beneath her, the air coils, and death seems descends upon her like a great wave.

~oOo~

The barrel of Peter's gun sizzles in his hand as it sends another useless security mech to its doom. "And I, well, Gamora means something to me" he rambles, trying to get his thoughts in order. Drax's question had caught him off guard, if anything the guy said could be counted as normal. He must have seen him trying to dance with Gamora on Knowhere; why else would he have brought up that stupid 'not a dancer' thing again?

With the hallway finally silent he turns to an expectant Drax, saying "If that means anything, it means-"

"Peter."

The voice catches him off guard, and he looks to Drax and Rocket as if one of them might have said it. They both look at him with blank expressions. Suddenly the buzzing in his ear, invisible during the chaos of battle, makes him realize that he must have accidentally activated his communicator. "How long has that been on" he wonders to himself as he speaks into it "oh hey Gamora, what's up?"

"It's a trap."

He swallows hard, "oh shit she definitely heard what I was saying." His mind starts to go wild, "what's a trap, our relationship?" "Now's not the time" he thinks to himself, "just play it cool."

"Ok, can you be more specific?"

"We need to go, Thanos guessed we were coming, it's been a trap-"

He sees it before he hears it. From the direction of the reactor room, a blinding flash of light with a rolling shockwave following right behind it. He doesn't have time to warn the others as the shockwave overtakes them in an instant, throwing him ten feet in the air and at least thirty feet down the corridor in a superheated blast of hot air and debris.

 ***KRAKA-BOOM!***

Tumbling to a stop all he can do for the first few moments is hold his chest, his innards all trying to climb out of his throat at once. Ceiling tiles rain down around him as the whole station seems to shake and groan under the strain.

His ears ring painfully loud, and he can taste blood in his mouth, but Peter still finds the energy to yell out "WHAT THE HELL ROCKET! I THOUGHT WE HAD ANOTHER FIVE MINUTES BEFORE THAT THING STARTED BLOWING UP!"

"WE'RE SUPPOSED TOO" yells Rocket in return, shaking from head to tail to remove the layer of particulate rubble that had covered him. Kneeling and checking a wrist mounted display he taps at it several times muttering "that's not possible."

"What's not possible!?" chokes out Peter as Drax helps him to his feat, the man himself relatively unharmed by the blast.

Rocket ignores him for a moment, continuing his search until he comes upon the screen he wants. He stares at it for what seems like an eternity.

"What's not possible?" repeats Peter, staring at Rocket intensely.

Rocket finally looks up from the data pad, eyes flashing between the both of them. Peter's breath catches in his throat as he finally recognizes the expression on Rocket's face, something he had never seen there before.

Surprise.

Fear and surprise.

"The reactor-"

"-How long do we have" interrupts Drax, but for once Rocket angry retort doesn't come. He continues talking as if to himself, "the reactor's already going critical. That… shouldn't have happened. That can't happen. Unless-"

He jumps to his feet so quickly as to make Peter step back in surprise, "-it's a trap! It's been a trap the whole time! The lax security, easy robots, we made it by sabotaging the reactor!"

"Gamora was thinking the same-" suddenly it dawns on Peter and covering his ear to better hear he calls out "Gamora can you hear me? Please tell me you're alright!?"

But there's nothing but silence on the line as Rocket continues talking over him.

"The reactor is artificially accelerating the fission progress" he explains, gesturing to his wrist display, "there must have been a hidden program that I missed when I set it to overload. What should have taken ten minutes took five."

"So" repeats Drax, "how long do we have?"

Rocket shrugs his shoulders with genuine uncernatity, "it's already going critical. Anywhere from five minutes to right now."

Peter lowers his hand from his ear, brows furrowed in concern. "Gamora's not picking up, I'm going after her!"

Removing both pistols from their holsters and taking off in a run back towards Gamora, Peter is caught off guard when Drax slaps him across the face, sending him staggering backwards. "SHE WILL MEET US AT THE MILANO!" he yells, grabbing Peter by the shirt and shaking him about.

Peter stares at him bewildered, "what the HELL was that for!?"

Drax's own face screws up in confusion, "we watched those Terran movies. Is that not how Earth humans impart an important point?"

Peter rubs his mouth, "I guess, but I think you broke one my teeth!"

Drax releases Peter's shirt, "the point is still valid. Gamora will meet us at the ship."

Peter shakes his head to clear it. "You're right Drax, you've got a mean swing and you're right. We've got to get to the ship, come on everybody let's go -HOLY SHIT- Rocket, your shoulder!"

A large six inch gash traces a line from his left shoulder down to his chest, Rocket glances at it as if noticing it for the first time.

Peter winces, "doesn't that hurt?"

"Yeah" says Rocket, bending down to pick up his fallen weapon, "but I was built for worse. And so apparently was your jaw Quill. Let's go." As he passes them by Peter and Drax share a meaningful glance, then follow after him at a run.

They don't get very far.

Out of nearly every door in the five hundred meters left until the hallway terminates into the outer ring of the station security mechs pour out. Nearly a hundred of them swarm towards them, with reinforcement following quickly behind.

"Oh Krutack" mutters Peter as he involuntarily reaches back to activate his mask, his hand meeting nothing but bare skin.

Rocket grabs several pieces from fallen drones blown down the corridor by the reactor's explosion. "Hold them off" he yells as he begins assembling some contraption.

Peter fires wildly down the hallway, downing half a dozen of the drones. "What you're building, is it going to be able to clear the way for us?" he asks Rocket over his shoulder.

"In a manner of speaking" he answers, welding parts together into a makeshift frame.

Drax brandishes his knifes, roaring a loud battle cry. "Now is not the time for speaking, now is the time for killing!"

~oOo~

Mantis's antennae droop low over her forehead as the gun in her hand shakes not from fright, but from exertion. She has been holding it upright for nearly thirty minutes. It is much too large for her, one of Gamora's spares rifles, and its weight now bears down on her wrists and arms. But she dares not lower it, there had only been a few mechs in the first couple of minutes, but now, they were coming once every few seconds. As another rounds the sharp ninety degree corner, she dispatches it with a well timed shot.

*Pew* *Pew* *Sploosh*

Mantis glances over at Groot who had been occupied with some videogame even since Peter and Gamora had left his sight. The noise coming from the thing had been a welcome distraction earlier, but now it is grating on her senses.

*Pew* *Pew* *Crunch*

"Could you please turn that down?" she asks as politely as possible. Groot ignores her, but Mantis persists, she knows he can hear her.

"I am trying to keep the ship safe; your electronic game is distracting me. Could you please turn it down?"

Groot finally looks up from the object of his attention. "I _am_ Groot" he mocks.

"No, I cannot turn the gun down" replies Mantis indignantly, "it is needed to-" turning back towards the hallway three drones are suddenly upon her. Her rifle barks out two reports, but the third is on her before she can level her gun at it. Grabbing her by the throat it lifts her up in a crushing embrace. She grabs at its shoulders, her empathic powers reading nothing from its cold purpose before it is suddenly pulled off her. Wrapped around its chest Groot's vine crushes it down, and then with one mighty heave he throws it down the hallway. It crashes into two more approaching drones and smashes them to pieces.

Mantis coughs, trying to regain her breath as she rises back to her feet, gun in hand. "Thank you" she breathes, rubbing her reddening throat.

"I **am** Groot" he says, shaking his head.

"Don't mention it?" asks Mantis perplexed, "you saved my life."

Groot holds out his hand, "I-" he pauses as if considering something, then waves it off, " **am** Groot."

"I agree" says Mantis, raising her rifle back into position, "Peter's Terran expressions don't make much sense."

Returning to her vigil watching over the hallway, Mantis readjusts the rifle in her hands. It is just then a strange sensation comes over her; the floor seems to rise around her as if being bent by some unseen hand. For a moment the rising and lowering mesmerizes her, rooting her to the spot. Then the shockwave comes upon her, hot air buffets her face as the force of the blast sends her tumbling backwards, the rifle flying out of her hand. Groot fares better as vines shoot out from his arms and legs to anchor him to the ground, one them flashing over to stop Mantis's head from hitting the floor.

The station around her seems to spin as she slowly rises back to her feet, helped up by Groot. Finding her footing on the still shaking floor of the station she nods thankfully in Groot's direction but his attention is now fixated on a small smashed object on the floor. He reaches out with his vines to pick up several of the pieces, but they crumble on contact.

"Is that-?"

"-I am Groot" he mutters in affirmation.

Mantis steps up behind him, slowly wringing her hands together as she says "maybe we can get you another one? That is, after we leave this station."

Groot shakes his head angrily, and turning to face her, he points down the hallway towards the outer ring of the station. "I **AM** Groot!" he exclaims.

"I do not see how anger is going solve anything" answers Mantis, "but we're supposed to stay here and defend the ship until the rest of the team get here."

Waving his arm dismissively Groot starts walking down the corridor away from her. "I **am** Groot!"

"What revenge? It was destroyed by a shockwave. We've got to stay here and-"

*BOOM*

The heavy clash of metal on metal silences Mantis and stops Groot in his tracks. Both of them stare down the hallway towards the outer ring of the station, their pathway ending in two right angles taking you down either the right or left of the outer ring.

*CLANG* (pause) *CLANG*

Mantis, remembering the rifle that had been blasted from her hands, now hurries back to it. It rests on its side, the ammo having been spilled on the ground. As she hurriedly gathers up the slugs and tries to load the weapon a fire lights up in Groot's eyes as his arms and chests grow thick with resilient bark. "I **AM** GROOT!" he bellows, as if inviting the challenger.

*CLANG* *CLANG* *CLANG*

Mantis runs up behind Groot and levels the rifle down the hallway. The noise, which sounds like the heavy footfalls of some great machine, emanates from the right of the outer ring.

*CLANG* *CLANG* *CLANG*

"Are you ready?" she asks, finger hovering over the trigger.

Groot smirks broadly, "I **am** Groot."

"Yes, yes you are" agrees Mantis.

*CLANG* ***CLANG* *CLANG***

Around the corner rolls the ponderous form a standard security mech, and in a long languid motion it raises its gun arm toward them. With an unceremonious clang, the arm falls to the floor.

"I am Groot" he mumbles, disappointed.

"I guess that's it" breaths Mantis, hopeful.

Without warning a huge metal leg appears around the corner, and with an enormous *CRUNCH*it crushes the smaller drone beneath its foot. Stepping fully into view, the massive military mech towers nearly as high as the ceiling twenty feet above them. Its arms, thick appendages nearly the length of its body, reach out towards them as it advances. Shots from Mantis's rifle smack into it with a hefty wallop, but the machine continues on undaunted, its steady footfalls like an oncoming avalanche.

Groot charges it, pounding at its right leg with a series of vicious attacks. The metal dents and bends under his onslaught, but the machine is too fast for him for in one quick motion it picks up Groot with its left hand and holds him high in the air. Vines pulling on the fingers of the robot, Groot struggles to get free as he fights against its crushing grip. Thrusting upwards the machine smashes Groot into the ceiling, sending debris raining down as it buries its arm almost to the shoulder. Lowering its arm back down, it returns empty handed.

Mantis continues firing but her shots aren't doing enough damage and the mech continues its seemingly unstoppable advance towards her. Stopping in front of her, it rears back a great fist and plunges it down towards her.

Mantis closes her eyes.

But the blow never comes.

Opening her eyes she sees the robot's giant hand hovering near inches away from her face, but the arm is being held back by a great vine. Dangling from the ceiling, Groot lets out a primal yell as he pulls with all his might, twisting the robot around. Staggering backwards it sways for a moment under its great weight, and then topples over with an almighty crash, landing on its front.

Groot drops from the ceiling, landing on the beast's back with a loud thump. Digging his vines into a damaged point of metal on its back he opens a large gash in the machine. Then, he climbs inside.

The Mech pulls itself back to its feet, its arms digging into the wall to act as support. It takes several lumbering steps towards Mantis as she prepares to fire, but then, it comes to a staggering stop. Its right arm spasms as its left tries in vain to reach around to its backside. Suddenly, bursting forth from the joints of its arm and legs, great vines wrap around and ensnare its appendages. The Mech struggles impotently for several more moments before, like a cork from a champagne bottle, its head pops off and disappears into the ceiling.

Everything is all at once very still as Mantis approaches the machine cautiously, weapon raised and ready to fire at the first sign of movement. "Groot, are you alright?" she hesitantly calls out.

Appearing in the space where its massive head once rested, Groot's pops up. The giant machines right arm suddenly rises up and Mantis's finger moves to the trigger to fire before Groot stops her short.

"I **am** Groot!"

Mantis raises an inquisitive eyebrow, "are you sure?"

Groot's vines acting as the sinews of muscles, he flexes his massive arms back and forth. And taking the first few steps under the direction of its new master, Groot stretches the machine to its full height.

Just then, from around the left corner another of the massive machines lumbers into view, but it stops short when it sees its new opponent. As if sizing the Groot controlled machine up, it pauses in the frame of the hallway for several moments before taking off back down the outer ring at the closest thing to a run it can muster. Groot smashes his two new mechanical hands together, open hand into closed fist, as he takes off after it. His shattering battle cry rings out down the hallway for all to hear.

" **I AM GROOOOOT!** "

~oOo~

Flickering lights struggle to illuminate the shattered space in front of Room 42DA. Shards of glass, ceiling tiles, and pieces of the wall cover the floor in a several feet thick layer of debris. Out of this pile, a green arm suddenly shoots through. Grasping around for purchase the hand finally comes upon one of the larger pieces of refuse, a six foot section of wall, and begins to pull hard.

Gamora grunts with the effort as, with one final heave, she manages to extricate herself fully. Rolling onto her back and breathing in heavily she tries to reorient herself.

"I'm on Luminary station's second spoke. Peter, Drax, and Rocket are on the first. Mantis and Groot are guarding the ship just off the outer ring. I was…I _had_ just gotten out of that awful room. Peter was saying something… or I was saying something to him. Then, the ground seemed to rise up… everything went dark."

Dragging herself up into a sitting position she taps at the communicator that had rested in her right ear, but instead of activating it her hand comes away covered in small pieces of metal. "Not like it was doing me any good" she mutters to herself as she brushes her hands free of the shattered device.

Checking herself for any serious injuries she is surprised to find none, only a few sprains and pretty badly rolled ankle, only the latter causing any problems as she slowly rises to her feet. She has cuts all over her body from the broken glass, "but those will heal fast" she thinks to herself, "the bodymods will see to that."

Slowly walking down the ruined hallway towards the outer ring, gingerly testing her right ankle, she smiles despite herself. "If there's any irony in the universe it's that Thanos is trying to kill me and the only thing that kept me somewhat conscious after that explosion were the bodymods." She lets out a hoarse laugh, "the bodymods that he gave me."

As if in response, she hears a metal popping sound directly above her. Looking up she barely has time to dive out of the way as a huge military mech comes crashing down directly on the spot she had occupied just milliseconds ago.

Her normally graceful movements are somewhat stunted by her hurt ankle and it takes her a second or two before she is able to stop swaying and face her new opponent. Rising to its full height it towers above, its face a blank slate of unmoving sensors as it rears back, preparing to smush her into the ground.

Gamora reaches back to her sword holster, she'd fought bigger things than this before, but her hand touches nothing but air. Suddenly it dawns on her that she had used her sword's blade like a javelin to cut through the remaining glass on the window to room 42DA, and she hadn't picked it back up.

The arms come down in a long arc and it's all Gamora can do to side step them as they tear a great hole in the stations floor. Trying to raise them again the machine seems to be momentarily stuck, struggling to free its arms from the hole it had dug them into. This gives Gamora a short opportunity and she uses it.

She runs.

Runs as fast as she can towards the outer ring of the station and the hopefully still waiting Milano.

As the robot finally tears itself free and begins it lumbering pursuit after her she limps along as fast as she can, almost hopping along to keep the weight off her still injured ankle. "I hope you paid a good price for these bodymods Thanos" she thinks to herself, glancing over her shoulder at the hulking form of the advancing robot, "because right now I am really going to need them!"

~oOo~

Rocket's paws move in a synchronized dance with his mind as they fly over and assemble the various parts of his latest contraption. He doesn't know how other intelligent minds, or what passes for intelligent minds out here in the galaxy, work, but when he comes up with a concept it's fully formed. Each screw, each nut and bolt, every contour a clear picture in his minds glorious eye.

Peter, still firing with abandon at the seemingly never-ending advance of machines, looks over his shoulder at Rocket and his work, and does a double-take.

He yells out over the din of battle, "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? I THOUGHT YOU WERE MAKING A WEAPON!"

What could charitably be called a cart, nearly seven feet long, sits in the middle of the hallway. Rocket, his body a blur of tensed muscle and matted down fur, works feverishly to finish it. On its bottom a dozen or so wheels, salvaged from the rolling legs of the smaller security mechs, prop it up. The rest of it seems to be composed of whatever relatively flat pieces of metal he could get his paws on.

Rocket pauses in his work to glare at Peter, retorting "I SAID I WAS MAKING A WEAPON IN A MANNER OF SPEAKING!"

"THAT IS NOT WHAT THAT EXPRESSION MEANS!" shouts Peter as he takes out a pulse grenade from his belt and throws it over his head and down the hallway. It lands and explodes in a blinding flash of light, bringing all of the currently attacking mechs down to the ground in a crumpled heap.

"That should buy us a few seconds" comments Peter as he walks over to examine Rocket's work, "now, as I was saying, WHY DIDN'T YOU BUILD A GUN!?"

"WOULD YOU QUIT SHOUTING!" yells back Rocket in return, "I got sensitive ears. And any weapon big enough to clear a path for us would tear right through the station's outer wall. I don't know about you Quill, but I don't want to see explosive decompression up close!" He turns back to finish his work before suddenly spinning back around to face him, paw and finger outstretched, "and don't lecture me about your stupid _hummie_ expressions. It's a miracle of science that we can all understand each other in the first place; your stupid language, with its stupid sayings, is just, stupid!"

"Oh yeah" retorts Peter, arms crossed. "Well some days I wish the _miracle of science_ didn't work!"

"You and me both pal" mutters Rocket as he attaches the final few components to his creation.

Drax, who had been in the middle of the fray slicing and dicing robots until Peter's pulse grenade had gone off, runs up to them. "Why did you not use that device before?" he asks Peter, gesturing down the hallway at all the fallen machines.

"Only got one" he explains, "actually there's a really good story behind that thing. Me, Yondu, and the old crew, must be almost ten years ago, anyways we had a job robbing a bank on a Kree planet. Yondu handed one of those out to each of us and, oh man this is funny, I'll never forget what he said-"

Peter comes to a stop, noticing the extremely bored look on Drax's face for the first time.

"What's up with you dude?"

"I have no interest in your stupid tale."

"Oh" huffs Peter indignantly.

Drax moves over towards Rocket, examining the cart at his feet. "What is this thing? You said you were building a weapon."

"I said in a manner of – never mind – it's a way off this station" he answers, but when Drax continues staring at him with a confused expression he sighs. "Ask Quill, and then, the both of you, do me a favor? Bend down and shove your collective heads up your collective asses so I can finish this thing before more robots get to us!"

Drax looks over to Peter, who shrugs his shoulders in partial answer, saying after a moment "a big enough weapon to clear our path would have breached the outer wall. Something about explosive decompression."

Drax nods in understanding, and then begins to bend over in Peter's direction before he slaps him on the shoulder. Drax looks at him but he just shakes his head angrily.

"Done, it's done!" exclaims Rocket happily. "Oh shit, and not too soon" he adds, pointing down the hallway.

As they push the bodies of their fallen comrades aside, another massive wave of the smaller mechs quickly approach. But this time one of the larger machines, its lumbering steps shaking the floor as it draws nearer, leads the group.

"Ok, that big guy is new right?" asks Peter.

Instead of answering Peter's question, Rocket jumps up onto the cart and begins dolling out instructions. "Drax, you're going to be the battering ram" he explains, pointing towards a small platform sticking out of the front of the cart at a forty-five degree angle with a chest high guardrail. "I'm going to strap you in there and you're going to bash a path for us."

"I did not know I was known for my bashing prowess?"

"Whatever you want man. Smash, cut, break, all I need you to do is clear a path with your knives!"

Drax nods in gleeful understanding as he hops up onto the forward facing platform. Rocket straps him in with a crude metal belt around his waist, tying it to the guardrail.

While Rocket's doing this Peter steps onto the cart and pulls out his pistols, "I'm standing here and firing right?" he asks.

Checking Drax's supports one last time and angling him so he sticks out in front of the cart, Rocket says "that's my job Quill; you're going to be the propulsion."

"What, like I'm gonna get behind and push?"

"No you idiot, you're going to lie down on your back here" he explains, pointing to the mismatched metal floor of the cart, "and I'm going to use your jet-boots to get us moving."

Peter blinks rapidly in surprise as he stutters "that insane, you're insane, you've finally gone insane Rocket!"

With his paws behind his back Rocket walks over to him, calmly saying as he does "you know that hummie expression, 'sorry not sorry' Quill?"

"Yeah but what-"

-with a vicious kick to the shins, Rocket sends Peter tumbling down to the floor of the cart. Howling in pain, Peter doesn't have time to protest as Rocket straps him in with a large metal band across his chest.

"You are such an asshole" growls Peter as Rocket moves to stand within reach of his feet.

"You'll thank me later."

"NO I WON'T" protests Peter, but Rocket ignores him, his attention fixed firmly down the hallway.

The large mech, its arms stretching out towards them, is now only about fifty feet away with a whole host of smaller machines trailing behind it.

 **Awesome Mix Vol. 3:** Mott The Hoople – All The Way From Memphis

Rocket smiles and begins to reach behind himself.

Holding his knifes aloft, Drax laughs riotously.

Peter curses loudly, trying to stretch down and rub his shin.

Gamora hops on one foot, her pursuer about to bring down its arms on top of her.

Mantis fires into a mass of mechs, downing three.

Groot rears back his mighty metal fist in preparation.

Rocket's paw reaches the manual on switch to Peter's jet-boots, it hovers just above it.

"Here we go" he mutters quietly before yelling out "hold on to your butts!"

 **All We Do Is Save The Galaxy: A Guardians of the Galaxy Story  
** **Written by: ThePetulantPen  
** **Music by: Whoever**

Groot's fist makes a thundering impact, Gamora rolls out of the way of another attack, Mantis levels two more drones, Rocket activates Peter's jet-boots, and Drax asks a question.

"Why would I hold on to my buuuuttt-" the acceleration of the cart is instantaneous and Rocket has to grab onto a handrail to keep from getting thrown as they tear off in a blur of metal and fur. The large mech in front of them takes a swing but they are moving too fast for it to make impact. And as they pass just between its legs Drax's knifes whip out, cutting both from its body as it topples over in a clattering heap behind them.

"AHHHAHAHA" bellows Drax, "this is indeed a most glorious form of combat!"

"I thought you said battle was best when it was fair?" yells out Peter in question.

"Best? Yes" answers Drax as he flips his knifes around in his hands, "but this is much more fun!"

The first dozen or so of the smaller mechs shatter apart on the prow of their craft as they slam into them at an incredible speed. Drax immediately starts going to work slicing and dicing, his arms moving in wild arcs as he makes mincemeat of their metal foes. However, even with his efforts, the sheer mass of enemies in front of them begins to slow them down as the cart is buffeted back and forth by the movement of the drones.

Rocket, noticing this, looks around for a solution. Finding it, he jumps on top of Peter's chest, causing all the air to be knocked out of him. As Rocket reaches for and removes Peter's pistols from his hands the man wheezes out "ahh, what you doing?"

Instead of answering, Rocket tucks both of Peter's pistols under his arms as he sets his own rifle down on Peter's chest, causing him to protest "stop *cough* doing that man."

Rocket ignores him as he removes a small roll of tape from his person, and holding the two pistols against the side of his rifle, begins to fasten them to it. Peter lifts his head up from his prone position on the floor of the cart and asks "tape, where'd you get tape?"

"I always carry it now" explains Rocket as he presses the second to last piece into place, Peter's pistols now firmly attached to the sides of his rifle. Stepping over his chest, Rocket uses the last piece on his roll to tape Peter's head to the floor of the cart, saying as he does "unlike you I always learn from my mistakes."

A string of loud curses trail after him as he climbs to the front of the cart and onto Drax's shoulders, the man himself stopping his wild attacks and looking at Rocket in confusion as he does so.

"Let me try" says Rocket as, in one fluid motion, he hoists his modified weapon onto his shoulder, raises his two paws to the triggers of the attached pistols, and uses his teeth to pull on the trigger of the rifle. Out of the three barrels a torrent of slugs comes pouring out, ripping into the massed drones blocking their path. Slowly but surely they begin to advance again, gaining speed until they start to roll over the mechs blocking their path, crushing them beneath the wheels of their cart.

Rocket ceases fire and lowers the weapon back to his side. Rubbing his jaw he says, "may have broken a few teeth, but hey, it got the job done!"

"Indeed" exclaims Drax as once Rocket hops off his shoulders he returns to cutting through any drone that nears him. "We are making progress now, only three hundred meters to the outer ring!"

Rocket opens his mouth to agree, but it slams shut when he sees what's up ahead. Two of the large mechs have their arms down in front of them, completely blocking the path forward. Rocket's mind works for a solution as he mutters "no way around them."

Suddenly the answer comes to him, "around them!"

Rocket yells out "Quill, I need you to turn us to the right!"

Struggling against the tape to look over his shoulder, Peter bellows "how am I supposed to do that?"

For an answer, Rocket flicks the trigger of one of Peter's attached pistols and fires a glancing shot just to the right of the man's feet. Jerking his feet to the left, Peter's angry retort is cut off as the cart makes a sudden and drastic turn to the right. Impacting the wall of the hallway with incredible speed the front wheels of the cart, angled out in front of Drax's position, find purchase as it with everyone inside begins to climb up the vertical surface. Rocket is nearly thrown off due to the sudden change in angle but just barely manages to hang on by bracing himself against the side of Peter's head, both hands still holding his modified rifle. "Ow, OW watch the claws!" barks Peter as Rocket's feet dig in to the side of his face.

Reaching the rounded ceiling of the hallway the cart flips upside down, centripetal force keeping them all inside as they reach the apex thirty feet above the ground. One of the military mechs swings its arm upwards in an attempt to grab them, but a quick swipe from Drax cuts its hand off at the wrist and they sail freely over it.

Coming into contact with the left wall, the contraption rides it down until it smashes back into the floor once again. The cart sways back and forth for a moment, threatening to topple over, but settles back down on its wheels after a few moments.

Eyes closed and grimacing in discomfort Peter chokes out "holy shit, that was worse than the matter scrambler ride at Paradise Park, I thought I was going to up-chuck!"

"How was that worse" asks Rocket as he starts to extricate himself from the side of Peter's head, "as I remember you telling it the matter scrambler actually made you puke!"

"Yeah but on the matter scrambler I didn't have to smell a Raccoon's butthole the entire time" exclaims Peter as he shoves Rocket the rest of the way off his head.

Slicing through the smaller mechs still trying to block their way, Drax says calmly "another right turn will be needed soon, as I have had little experience in fighting a head-on collision."

The wall of the outer ring of the station quickly approaches, but this time Peter doesn't need any instruction as he swings his legs to the left. The cart veers right, just missing the corner where their hallway terminates into the outer ring, and speeds off towards the Milano. The wind whipping the fur on his face backwards, Rocket once again climbs onto Drax's shoulders at the front of their vessel to get a better view down the outer ring.

"There it is" he calls out happily, seeing the short entryway to the Milano's docking position in front of him. But his smile disappears when he sees the large mech standing in front of it; it's back turned to them. Rocket's face hardens in determination as he says "let's ram em! Get ready to slice it up Drax!" Drax smiles in anticipation, his knifes glinting in the station's artificial lights. Rocket readies his rifle to fire.

Then the mech turns around, it's head green with large amber eyes instead of unmoving metal.

"OH SHIT- Stop! Turn off the jets Quill!"

Peter reaches for his feet but the metal strap that had kept him secure throughout the whole ride now impedes his movement and he can't quite reach. Seeing this, Rocket dives towards the back of the cart, but their forward momentum pushes him farther than he intended and he just manages to grab Peter's feet as he slides down his body. The flames singe the fur on his tail as he fumbles for the manual shutoff switch, but it's too late, a collision is imminent.

Groot raises his mechanical arms out in front of him and braces his feet against the ground. Impacting with a mighty crash of metal on metal, the cart comes to sudden stop, two large hands on the front and back holding it in place. Finally switching off the jets, his tail smoking mournfully, Rocket lets out a loud cheer of "dam Groot! That was one hell a catch!"

Letting go of them Groot shrugs his mechanical shoulders, feigning disinterest as he says "I **am** Groot."

Pulling the strap off his chest Peter staggers to his feet, ranting angrily "that was the craziest, stupidest, most unpleasant things in a lifetime of unpleasant things!"

Drax, unmooring himself from the front of the cart, cackles "that was most enjoyable, let us do it again!"

"Thank you Drax" says Rocket before crossing his arms and addressing Peter, saying "I think now it's your turn to appreciate the finer things in life."

"Nothing about that was fine" says Peter as he tears his two pistols off Rocket's rifle and re-holsters them.

Mantis runs up, asking "are you all alright?"

"I think the answer to that question is always no" says Peter, "but physically, we're mostly good."

"Oh quit whining you pansy" comments Rocket, earning an angry scowl from Peter. "Let's get on the ship and off this stupid station."

"Wait" says Peter as he turns in place to survey his surroundings, "where's Gamora?"

"She has not arrived yet" says Mantis in answer.

Peter eyes go wide as he grabs his pistols and takes off to the left, down the outer hallway. Drax tries to grab him again but this time he spins out of his grasp. "She will meet us at the Milano!" he calls out after him.

"I know that" says Peter as he sprints off down the outer ring, "but we're here and she ain't."

After a few moments, his form disappears around the curvature of the hallway. The Guardians are silent for a while; Drax examines the blades of his knifes, Mantis shifts her large rifle to the other shoulder, Groot raises one of his large arms to scratch at a point on his face, Rocket rubs his injured shoulder.

Finally Rocket, gesturing at Groot's large new body, asks "how did you get that?"

"I **am** Groot!"

"Can't believe I missed it" says Rocket as his eyes take in the holes in the floor and ceiling of the entryway they're standing just in front of.

Groot points to Rocket's tail, a large part of the fur having been burnt off by Peter's jet-boots, but Rocket just shrugs his shoulders in answer. Finally saying after a moment "it'll grow back, looks ain't everything-"

"-LOOKS" exclaims Drax, his arm pointing in the direction Peter ran off towards, "he returns!"

Rounding the bend in the hallway, Peter's arms are flailing wildly as he gestures towards them.

"What the hell is he doing now?" asks Rocket.

"Perhaps he is trying to communicate to us nonverbally" says Drax, "I did not know he was fluent in the language of the non-verbal."

Just then Gamora comes into view behind him, hurriedly limping with discomfort to avoid her hurt ankle.

"There's Gamora" says Mantis, breathing a sigh of relief.

A massive military mech, its steps felt as a slight vibration beneath their feet, trails closely behind her, gaining with every step it takes.

"And there's trouble" growls Rocket, reading the rifle in his hands.

Finally Peter's echoing voice reaches them "get the ship ready, we gotta go!"

Drax and Mantis take off down the entryway, disappearing into the airlock leading to the Milano. Rocket looks at the rifle in his hands and then back to Peter before cursing under his breath and following after them.

Groot, however, rolls his great shoulders around in anticipation and takes off towards the approaching mech. Both Peter and Gamora have to dive out of the way as he goes thundering past them, lowering his shoulder in preparation for the attack. But his opponent is quicker, for as they collide in a rending crash it gets beneath Groot and slams him into the floor. Pinning him in place, it begins to bring a great fist down upon Groot's head, but he catches it with both his metal hands. Struggling to get free, Groot with a mighty heave tears off the robot's hand, leaving a jagged metal stump with a two foot protrusion. The mech looks at what remains of his hand for a moment, as if in curiosity, then swipes down at Groot's head with it.

Unable to block it, Groot disappears back into the mechs body as the improvised blade slices a great gouge in the floor where his head once was. His vines tearing open a new hole in the side of his abandoned metal body; he bursts forth and sprints towards the ship.

Arriving at the frame of the entryway to the Milano, the ship's airlock only fifty feet away, Peter, who is helping Gamora along as she limps in agony, turns when he hears the sound of Groot's voice. Seeing him running towards them, the large mech right behind in pursuit, Peter asks Gamora if she can shoot.

Leaning heavily on one leg, her face screwed up in pain, she nevertheless nods in the affirmative as Peter hands her one of his pistols. Bracing Gamora up against the inside wall of the outer ring to free up his shooting hand he commands "aim for the leg joints" as they both open fire.

Shots ripple over Groot's head and slam into the less protected joints on the great machine's legs, but nearer and nearer it comes even as the slugs tear away at the metal. Groot finally passes them by, heading for the airlock as Peter and Gamora keep firing. Finally, its legs separating from its body, it leaps at them and with a backhanded swipe sends them tumbling across the hallway and ten feet down the entryway to the Milano.

Leaking a noxious black liquid out of the stubs where its legs once were the mech starts pulling itself towards them, using the spiky protrusion that used to be its left hand as a pick to gain traction. Peter, recovering first from the impact, rolls over onto his back and continues to fire his pistol in a desperate attempt to stop the machine's slow advance. His shots ricochet off its head, denting the metal in a dozen places, but it does not fail as the mech raises its jagged arm and slams it down, plunging it into the floor between Peter's legs.

Raising it again, it prepares the killing blow as Peter lines up his final shot.

*CRACK* *CRACK*

Two shots just to his right ring out, piercing the contorted metal of the mechs head in two parallel places. Creaking and groaning, machinery stuttering to a stop, the robot slumps inert onto the station's floor. Leaning on her side, leg tucked up beneath her body, Gamora lets his pistol fall from her hand as she slumps onto her back.

Peter, standing up and regaining his footing rather shakily, crosses over to her, and after retrieving his discarded pistol, begins to pull her gingerly up off the floor. It takes several tries, her injured leg proves nearly useless in supporting her weight so Peter has to prop her with his shoulder. But as they finally start moving towards the airlock with staggered steps, he says "that was some good shooting, but I think I weakened it for you."

"Take whatever credit you want" says Gamora as she limps by his side, injured left leg dangling impotently between them.

"I'm not trying to take credit" argues Peter, shifting her weight on his shoulder for better support. "I was just stating a fact, I weakened it for you."

All her attention now focused on remaining upright Gamora doesn't respond, but Peter continues anyway, asking "so, um, did you hear what I was saying earlier on the communicator?"

"Can't this wait" hisses Gamora through gritted teeth, having put momentarily too much weight on her injured ankle.

"Oh yeah, sorry, it can wait" says Peter. But after only a few more steps he blurts out "it was just that Drax asked me a stupid question, and I don't know, I rambled a little bit."

Irritated, Gamora asks through labored breaths "what makes you think I care?"

"Well," Peter lowers his eyes away from her, "I was hoping you'd care a little bit. I meant what I-"

Gamora lurches forward and tumbles to the ground as Peter's supportive shoulder suddenly vanishes from her grasp. Ankle burning freshly hot in agony, she spins around to yell at Peter for his carelessness, but her angry retort never comes. He is on his knees, hands slowly moving around a foot long protrusion of metal sticking out from of his right leg. As his eyes move from examining the piece of jagged metal to her shocked face, his mouth opens to speak but all that comes out is a weak murmur.

"Oh man."

As Peter collapses face first onto the ground the piece of metal is suddenly and violently pulled out from his leg as the massive mech, thought dead, retracts its arm back towards itself. From out of the two parallel holes Gamora shot through its blank face, a red light from internal circuitry shines through, giving it a vividly monstrous stare as it once again starts pulling itself closer to them.

Crawling across the floor towards Peter, her swollen ankle making walking nearly impossible, Gamora grabs onto his shoulders and desperately starts to pull him towards the airlock twenty feet away. Struggling to gain enough traction with her one good foot, she suddenly feels a strong presence grab ahold of her from behind. Groot, having returned from somewhere inside the Milano, stands in the frame of the airlock with his vines wrapped around Gamora's midsection. Pulling hard, he begins to drag them closer.

Another explosion, rippling through the floor, is felt from somewhere deep within the station. The air around them, which had been mostly still up to this point, is suddenly whipped up into a gale as it pulls them with incredible force away from the ship. "Explosive decompression" slurs Peter, struggling to stay conscious though the loss of blood, "the reactor must've torn a hole in the station!"

Strong vines shooting out from his body to anchor him to the frame of the airlock, Groot struggles against the suction of the wind, but he can't pull them any closer. Lifted off the ground by the balance of the opposing forces, Peter and Gamora sway back and forth violently as Gamora struggles to maintain her hold on his midsection.

Despite its great weight the mech too is lifted off the floor and slides backwards several feet before digging in with its arms into the walls of the hallway, bringing itself to a grinding halt. Slowly, one arm moving at a time, it claws its way back towards them, the piercing red light from its bullet hole eyes staring out at them.

Peter struggles to turn his head towards Gamora as he mouths words, but she can't hear him over the roar of the wind. Trying again, he points a shaking arm towards his feet and mouths "jet-boots!" Catching his intention even if she still can't hear him, Gamora strains to pull him closer, but the suction of the wind is too strong. Beginning to mouth the words "I can't" back to him she is interrupted by a furry presence suddenly slamming into the top of her head.

Through eyes watering from the impact she can nevertheless see Rocket, who must have slid down the length of Groot's vine to get to them, climbing over her and onto Peter. Ignoring the mouthful of fur she is getting as Rocket's tail whips in the wind in front of her face, Gamora watches in anticipation as he pulls himself down to Peter's feet and reaches out for the manual switch on his jet-boots.

Still red with Peter's blood, the jagged makeshift blade of the metal monster's arm swipes out and tries to cut them in half, but Rocket is just a moment too fast for it as the flames from Peter's feet are the only thing it touches.

Concentrating with all his fractured energy, Peter struggles to keep his legs straight as the jets propel them closer and closer to the open airlock. Clinging to his lower half, Rocket tries to help him by wrapping his arms around the shaking man's legs, singeing his tail again in the process. But with a final heave from Groot; Gamora, Peter, and Rocket pass through the semi-permeable force field keeping the air inside the Milano calm and collapse onto the ground, Rocket having reached down and deactivated the jets.

Gamora, pulling herself out from under Peter, staggers towards and slams her hand down onto the panel controlling the airlock door. It begins to shut, its two halves sliding down into place, but the broken metal hand of the robot is suddenly thrust through, keeping the door from sealing shut. It struggles against the closing doors, jostling back and forth, threatening to break them off their mechanical hinges. The jagged metal blade, still dripping with Peter's blood, makes a small pool on the Milano's floor.

Rocket and Gamora both dive for the pistols attached to Peter's waist, but a bounding figure emanating from the stairs to the Milano's cockpit is faster. Coming to a skidding stop in front of them, Drax grabs ahold of the blood stained protrusion sticking through the door, and with one mighty heave, rips it away from the machine's arm. The door finally closes with a heavy thunk, sealing them away from Luminary Station.

The roar of the Milano's engines fills the ship as they detach and blast away. Peter, his head pressed against the floor in pain, calls out "who's flying my ship?"

"Mantis is piloting" answers Drax as he examines the ghastly shard of metal in his hands.

"She better not crash" gasps Peter in-between rasping breaths.

Rocket, his tail once again smoldering, asks "what took you guys so long? Last time I saw y'all you were right behind – what the hell!" For the first time Rocket notices the front of his body is soaked in blood, sniffing at it in confusion he realizes that it's not his own.

Gamora, kneeling down clumsily due to her swollen ankle, cradles Peter's head in one hand; the other holds his in a tight embrace. "He's hurt bad" she croaks out, examining the still bleeding wound in Peter's leg. "Rocket, get me the med-kit!"

He takes off towards another part of the ship as Drax and Groot run over and kneel beside them.

"I _am_ Groot?"

"How did this happen?" echoes Drax.

"The machine stabbed him with that" answers Gamora, gesturing with her head towards the severed blade in Drax's hand. "Got him when our back's where turned, when he was helping me. I thought I had killed it…"

His blue eyes blinking open and closed as he fights to remain conscious, Peter mumbles "not your fault, I took credit for the kill remember?"

Gamora doesn't say anything for a moment as she continues to cradle his head in her hand. Finally, she turns to Drax and says "tell Mantis to take us to the nearest friendly planet, we need to get him into a hospital as soon as possible."

Nodding, Drax stands up and heads towards the cockpit, disappearing up the stairs. Peter, his eyes now closed, pleads "I don't want to go to a hospital, I hate them. Haven't been to one since Mom-"

A shot of pain through his leg silences him as he struggles back and forth on the floor in anguish, Gamora having to hold him in place so he doesn't further injure himself. She quietly whispers "I know you don't want to go, but it's the only way."

Rocket returns from Gamora's cabin with a black bag over his shoulder, and removing a small metal cylinder about the size of his paw from it, holds it out for her.

Letting go of Peter's hand she takes it in hers, saying as she does "now Peter, this will hurt, but it'll seal the wound until we can get you some real help." Peter, his eyes opening and alighting upon the device in her hand, yells out and tries to squirm away, afraid of the pain. Groot extends several vines to anchor him in place but Peter continues to thrash back and forth in primal fear.

Rocket whispers into Gamora's ear "you've got to distract him." Shaking her head in understanding she grabs Peter's face and twists it towards hers, saying as she does "Peter, PETER LISTEN TO ME!"

His bloodshot eyes stare into hers as she says, "there's something I have to tell you." Peter stops struggling as Gamora gently caresses his face, saying after a moment, "I love you."

"Really?" he splutters, "because I LOOOOOOVE-"

-His words turn into a bestial yell as Gamora plunges the device in her hand into the open wound on Peter leg. Pressing the round button on the top it sizzles and pops, sealing the hole with a protective yellow foam. His whole body relaxes as his head rolls to the side, eyes staring open and looking out the windows at the back of the Milano. Luminary station, now a small white pinprick amongst the stars, flashes brilliantly bright for a moment before slowly fading slowly into so much cosmic dust.

As his eyes close and the sounds around him become muffled, he mutters "all we do is save the galaxy."

Then, as his mind slips into the unconscious, he becomes numb to the universe.


	2. New Normal

Chapter Two: New Normal

Bullets thunder over his head, impacting the wall behind in a shower of plaster dust and debris. The mad man with the machine-gun yells loudly and incoherently, spitting venom to match the lead of his weapon. Terrified civilians, frightened by the explosion of violence, have long since run for cover, leaving the town's public square an empty battlefield.

As windows blast apart in showers of crystalline shards and the once pristine store fronts are perforated by the wild spread of the massive machine gun, his cover is starting to disappear.

But Peter Jason Quill isn't worried.

In fact, he even isn't paying attention.

"No, no, not that one" he instructs through his communicator, the three dimensional image displayed before him courtesy of his ocular implants moving on to another painting in the gallery. "What are you kidding me" he says, commenting on the next painting shown to him. "Why would I want a picture of flowers? You know I'm allergic to most of them."

"I think it's quite beautiful" says Gamora, her voice coming through his communicator relatively clear. "And you're allergic to the plant, not a painting of one."

"You'd think that but even looking at it makes we want to sneeze" says Peter. "Just get to the one I told you about."

With a heavy sigh Gamora takes several steps to the right and comes upon the next painting. Inside of its gold frame a heroic warrior stands upon a mountaintop, holding two identical spiral galaxies above his head in triumph. Other characters, barely recognizable as humanoid, stand partially obscured in shadow behind him. One of them however is very clearly a handsome rat.

Smiling unseen, Peter says "oh yeah, yep, that's definitely the one I was thinking about. I told you we have fans."

"Speak for yourself" retorts Gamora, "I'm not an art critic but-"

"-uh, but you're kinda sounding like one" interrupts Peter.

"The painter drew me with three arms! And Drax is yellow, or at least, what I think is Drax is yellow."

"It's called artistic interpolations Gamora" insists Peter as he ducks lower behind his vanishing cover, several bullets having come rippling in just above his head.

"Wait a minute; were those bullets I just heard? Are you fighting someone without us?"

"No, what makes you think that?"

The machine gun suddenly silences and a booming voice rings out, declaring "Star-Lord, long have I searched for you! My name is Bakerate the Waster, and by the end of this battle one of us will be dead!"

Peter peeks his head momentarily above his quickly evaporating cover and yells back, "I'm almost done here. Just keep shooting that gun of yours and I'll be with you in a moment." The firing resumes in answer and Peter throws out a quick "thank you" over the din of battle.

A long sigh from Gamora comes over the communicator, "you're a terrible liar. Keep playing these games all you want Peter, but pretty soon you're going to have to wake-

-*Click* goes his communicator as Peter deactivates it with the touch of a button. "That's enough of that " says Peter as he grabs ahold of both his pistols. "Now, time to deal with Machine Gun Mike."

Crouching in anticipation, Peter's mask materializes onto his face and his jet boots roar into life, spurting great jets of flame. Lifting off like a missile, Peter shoots into the air in a long parabola, trailing bullets behind him as the machine-gun wielding bad guy attempts to follow his arc in the air. Coming to the apex of his flight directly above Bakerate, Peter dives in a straight line towards him nearly fifty feet below. As he swerves left and right to avoid the erratic fire of bullets, he removes a small metallic device from his belt and readies it in his hand.

A sly smile graces his face.

*Doink*

Peter comes to a gentle stop just in front of Bakerate who, looking around in confusion, has completely forgotten the large weapon in his hands. "That was it?" asks Bakerate after another moment of perplexed looking.

"Nope" says Peter as he holds out a second device with a large red button on it.

"This is it."

With a press of his thumb the small metallic device he had placed onto Bakerate's back with a satisfying "Doink" explodes in a blinding green flash of concentrated energy. The bad guy, slowly lowering his eyes to the now foot long hole in his chest, studies it with intense fascination before looking back up to him. Whispering a quite "well played, Star-Lord," he collapses to the ground in a heap.

Emerging from their hiding places the citizens swarm onto Peter, letting out loud cheers as they lift him up onto their shoulders. Smiling broadly, Peter proclaims "this is how it's supposed to be!"

Suddenly a loud beeping, seemingly coming from everywhere at once, permeates the air with a shattering chord. The people around him, still cheering and clapping in happiness, begin to disappear in puffs of smoke. As the last few holding him up vanish, sending him crashing to the ground, the beeping becomes even louder, sending great cracks running through the ground. As the earth around him begins to fall apart, rent by the vibrations, Peter turns in wonder to the dead Bakerate lying on the ground at his feet. He asks him "are you doing this?"

"Nope" he answers simply, eyes still closed. "I've been dead for at least thirty seconds."

 ***Beep* *Beep* *Beep***

 **Awesome Mix Vol. 3:** Humble Pie - The Light

His eyes open.

A ceiling, metallic with crossing bars and pipes. A poster of Ms. Rajak on the wall, her smiling face staring out at him. Clothes strew haphazardly on the floor, a glass half empty on the table beside him.

He knows this place.

The low rumble of powerful engines causing a slight vibration throughout his body. The sounds from his Zune, taking over from the beeping of his alarm. Bickering voices, muffled by the metal between them, but still clearly audible outside.

He definitely knows this place. The Milano, home.

Raising his head off the pillow, the yellowing bandages wrapped around his right leg catch his attention. After every dream he forgets they are there, but their tight presence, like a second skin, always returns with reality.

Struggling to swing his legs over the side of the bed, it takes several moments before he is able to bring his body up into a sitting position. Peter rubs his face with one hand as the other reaches out for the glass on the table.

Raising the glass of liquid up to his lips and taking a sip he nearly drops it as the bitter drink washes over his tongue. Spluttering and coughing, he sets the glass back down on the bedside table, muttering as he does "forgot I was drinking Scanian Ale last night."

Peter's voice comes out of his throat hoarse as he asks to the room at large "computer, what's the time?"

A monotone voice comes out of speakers in answer, droning "would the sir like Galactic Standard Time, Earth Centric Time, or-"

"-I don't care, just give me the dam time" retorts Peter angrily.

The voice pauses for a moment, then states "this system cannot find a reference for 'dam time' anywhere in its database."

"Stupid-computer-says-what?"

Pause. "This system cannot find a-"

"-cancel that request" says Peter and the monotone voice silences. "Can't even do that right" he mutters to himself. "Fine, Computer, give me the time, Galactic Standard."

"Galactic Standard time is 11:31AM" it answers.

Peter stares out at his room, saying after a long pause "repeat the time."

"Galactic Standard time is 11:32AM."

Peter rubs his face once again and lets out a long groan, muttering "why didn't you wake me up at 8:00AM?"

"Because the sir requested that I change his wake-up time to 11:30AM."

"I did?" asks Peter, letting his arms hang down by his side.

The computer makes a few beeping sounds, then his recorded voice comes over the speakers. _"Hey you, yeah you, the annoying medical VI thing Gamora got me that talks to me. I ain't getting up early tomorrowday, so uh *burp* change when I get up."_

 _"What shall I change the sir's wake up time too?"_

 _"11! Wait, is that a number I can use?"_

 _"It is sir."_

 _"Great, then let's make it 11 and that number that's halfway between one and sixty."_

 _"11:30 sir?"_

 _"Yeah, that's the *burp* one!"_

"Alright I get it, stop the recording" demands Peter, bringing his drunken voice to a halt. Standing up slowly, putting as little weight as possible on his right leg, he takes the first few tentative steps towards the bathroom, commenting as he does "I don't remember saying that. I don't remember anything."

The monotone voice returns, saying "sir, it is my duty to remind you that you did not take any of your medication last night."

Peter moves in front of the mirror hanging over his sink and turns on the tap, letting the cold water flow over his hands. Subconsciously, he raises his head towards the ceiling as he says "it ain't your duty to do nothing. I can take care of myself."

"Madame Gamora programmed me to remind you if you didn't follow the prescription, this machine is only following its procedures."

Pooling some water into his cupped hands and splashing it onto his face, Peter shudders slightly at its frigid temperature. "Fine, I'll take them later" he says after a while, "once I wake up a bit."

The computer is silent at this, apparently not having an answer to that programmed in it's database. This is just fine for Peter; he was tiring of the electronic bickering anyways. As he wets his hair with the water now filling the sink he attempts to think back to the strange dream he was having. What seemed like crystal clear reality only moments ago is now nothing but a murky memory, but as the water wets his scalp he attempts to think back to what was happening. Something about a fight, a cool painting, and Gamora being angry at him. The details are scattershot, but the emotion, how it made him feel, is still as strong as if it had really happened. As he stares into the mirror, eyes red and damp hair plastered against his head, he lets the memory of the feeling wash over him.

It felt like what being a hero should feel like.

As he moves to comb his hair with his hands something catches his eye, and separating out the offending hair follicles, he pulls them out in a sharp gesture. Holding them out to the light their color is more evident. "More gray hair! I am about to lose my shit over this" says Peter as tosses them into the trash disposal unit next to the sink.

Turning out the light to the bathroom he limps back into the room proper to study his surroundings. The memories of last night are hardly more than faint whispers, but remembering what he can his eyes are drawn to the workbench along the wall across from his bed. It was one of the first things he had installed on the Milano after he had managed to convince Yondu to sell it to him years ago and the old table is lined with dents and scratches even though, until last night, it hadn't been used in years. But now, soldering pens, spot welders, and other tools cover its surface. And at its center-

"-Now it's starting to come back" remarks Peter as he picks up the object of last night's fascination. A large red eye stares out past him, looking somewhere beyond his right shoulder. The other eye, attached to the other half of his mask, is blind, the glass and underlying circuitry broken. The evidence of recent work, exposed wires and freshly repaired circuits, is evident on both halves of the mask. Peter holds up the part in his hand to his face. The light coming through the glass eyepiece is tinged red, and with one eye closed it's all he can see, but as soon as the other eye opens, the illusion vanishes. He sets it back down on the table, commenting to himself "how long have I let this stay broken?"

"One year, nine months, and 26 days."

"I know how long it's been" says Peter, raising his head to the ceiling. "The question was rhetorical! You metal idiot."

"This machine's designation is Computer; would the sir like to change it to 'metal idiot'?"

Peter chuckles as he says "yeah that'd be just fine, metal idiot."

Lowering his head he rubs his right hand over the other half, this side having borne the brunt of his father's anger, the damage is much worse. "I was trying to fix this last night" he says, but as his eyes drift over to the finished bottle of Scanian ale on his bedside table he adds "I guess it didn't go very well."

"I cannot make that distinction sir, but you did become more distressed as the night went on."

Picking up the good half again, he twirls it in his hand as he makes a slow procession around the room. Picking up the Zune from its charging dock and slipping his duster over his shoulders, he steps in front of the door to the common room and presses the open button. It slides up into the ceiling with a metallic clunk, revealing what's on the other side. A woman, with a green hand mirroring his own, reaching out and touching the unlock button.

"Gamora" chirps Peter, surprised. "What are you-"

"-Hold on" she interrupts, and as Peter opens his mouth to ask why the door slides back into place with another loud clunk. "I accidently pressed the button right after you" comes her voice, muffled by the door between them. "One of us has to press it again to open it."

Peter nods his head involuntarily, saying "yeah that sounds like a good plan."

Nothing happens for several moments.

"Well?" comes Gamora's voice through the door.

"Oh, was I supposed to press the button?"

"It's your door isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, but you were the one who closed it so I just assumed that you would press the button, but if the plan has changed then I have no problem pressing the button... Should I press the button?"

An irritated tone is evident in her voice he she responds with "yes, press the button Peter."

*tap* *tap*

The door slides open, "Peter I, - what?" Peter has his hand out in front of him and his eyes are watching the door. "I think I, yep" the door begins to slide closed, "I think I pressed the button twice on accident." It clicks back into place. "Should I try pressing it again or should you give it a try?" he asks through the door.

"Peter" comes Gamora's angry retort, "that was not an accident. Either you get this door open or I'm going to cut through it!"

The door slides open, this time staying in place. Peter leans against the frame, trying to look as nonchalant as possible as he asks "so, what's up?"

"I need you."

Peter's eyes go a bit wide as he involuntarily straightens his posture, asking "you, uh, you do?"

Gamora gives him an inquisitive look as she continues "yes, I need you to help me calm down Rocket and Drax. They're about to tear each other, and this ship, apart."

Peter deflates, letting himself lean back against the door frame as he mutters "oh, yeah, I can do that."

Gamora twists her head slightly to the side as she examines Peter, before asking "did you sleep in those clothes?" She takes a step closer to him, recoiling slightly and grimacing she adds "and you smell like the bottom of a Knowhere bar Peter!"

He picks at the t-shirt self-consciously, saying as he does "I may have slept in this shirt but you clearly have no idea how bad a Knowhere bar can smell."

"I've been to the same places you've been" says Gamora as she steps past him and into the room. Her eyes trace a path across the space, over the clothes spread scattershot across the floor, the empty bottles on the table, and the workbench covered in tools. Walking over to the bench, the heavily damaged half of his mask stares up at a point just past her left shoulder. Reaching out and touching the several new welds and alterations on it, her eyes turn back to Peter and light upon the other half in his hand. "How long have you been trying to fix it?" she asks, her tone one of suprise.

"I'm not- it was just something I got into last night" says Peter as he nevertheless walks over and places the mask down gently on the workbench next to its more broken half.

"You can always ask Rocket for help with the-"

"-I ain't asking Rocket for _anything_ with help _about_ nothing" insists Peter forcibly, "it's broken, dead, I was just drunk last night and thought..."

He trails off for a moment, eyes that were looking into hers sink to the table. "That if I fixed it, I dunno, good things would happen."

Gamora arches an eyebrow in question, asking "have you had any improvement with your leg?"

A moment of sadness flashes over his features; his shoulders tighten as his brows furrows, his eyes dance across his feet, and for an instant he seems so small. But at soon as it arrives, it passes, and as he rises back to his full height he says "oh you know, it still hurts a bit, but I'll be back to regular me soon."

Gamora studies his expression for a moment, a question forming on her lips, but his easy smile keeps them unsaid as she instead comments "good, because I've already got several new base locations to look into and I'd like you back in it."

As she steps by him and heads towards the door she misses another pained look, furtive eyes searching the floor. But as she turns to face him in the frame of the door it's gone even faster this time.

"So, you'll come down and help me with Rocket and Drax?"

"Yeah" says Peter as he rubs his thumb up and down the blinded half of his mask. Gamora turns to leave.

"You said you love me."

Gamora stops, half turned away.

"Was that because you thought I'd die?"

"Peter I-"

"-that's what Drax thinks, said it was a part of his people's death ritual to say you love them to those about to pass on."

Gamora, still not facing him, doesn't answer so Peter continues, saying "but I don't trust that guy's advice all the time. Rocket told me you were just trying to distract me in order to seal the wound." He gestures to the bandages wrapped around his right leg, suggesting that it worked.

Gamora finally turns around and looks him in the eye. "I care about you Peter."

"That's not the same thing as-"

Suddenly a loud shout, emanating from the lower deck, pierces the air. Peter and Gamora continue looking at each other for several more long seconds, green eyes staring into brown, until Peter finally turns away.

Looking at the two broken halves of his mask he hears Gamora say "we can talk about this later. Can you come down there and help me?"

"Yeah, just let me put some fresh clothes on first" he says, not looking at her. Peter doesn't hear her move for a while as he continues staring at the workbench. But finally, after hearing her soft footsteps, the door slides shut with a metallic click.

As the red eye stares out at him, he picks up the better half of his mask and turns it face down on the table.

"It was a stupid idea" he mutters to himself as he limps off towards the closet.

~oOo~

The gun in his arms crackles and whines, its servos expanding it to full length as the barrel points directly at Drax.

"Say it" snarls Rocket, "say it or I'm going to blow that big blob of stupid you calls a head off your shoulders!"

"Unlikely" says Drax flatly, "the safety has yet to be deactivated on your weapon."

Rocket's eyes jump down to his gun as his paw flashes out and flicks a small yellow switch on it's side. "Alright, now say it!"

"No."

"Do it!"

"I have not changed my opinion since the last time you asked, so the answer is the same. No."

Rocket hovers his finger on the trigger, his eyes red slivers of anger. Mantis moves in between them, hands outstretched in a gesture of peace. "Friends, this anger is unsettling, can we please resolve this with words?"

"That's what I'm trying to do" growls Rocket.

"You are currently holding a gun to the both of us" observes Mantis.

"Call it words with a little encouragement, I don't care, I ain't lowering this until Drax agrees to pay for all of _my_ food he ruined!"

"And as I have told you before I have _ruined_ nothing!" yells Drax, pointing to the objects in question. Several sacks of bagged grain stand rudimentarily taped together, large and precise cuts cover their fronts, most of their contents having long since spilled onto the ground.

"There's more that's out of them than in them" argues Rocket, kicking some of their material that litters the floor towards Drax. "Nearly seven-hundred units worth, and you're paying for it!"

Drax picks up a handful of the spilled substance and lets it tumble from his hand. "Nothing is ruined" he insists, "and I have promised you that I will pick up and repackage everything I have spilled. But we agreed that training Mantis was important so that is what I have been doing. It is not my fault that the only thing on this ship that approximates a humanoid mass is these obscenely large bags of food you have."

The gun lowers in his hands for a fraction of a second before returning to its previous position; "alright, I ain't that pissed about the grain" admits Rocket. "What I am going to shoot you for is _that_ hate crime!"

Rocket gestures with his gun towards another stand-in, this one cobbled together with several different cuts of meat, their surfaces sliced and bruised from repeated attacks. But on what could charitably be called its head, a face with whiskers and large pointy ears has been drawn on it.

"Why are you upset about that?" questions Drax.

"It's my face!" bellows Rocket, waving his gun wildly.

Drax squints at the crudely drawn face for several moments, finally commenting "it does somewhat bear your likeness."

"Exactly-"

"-especially your absurdly large and pointy ears-"

"-that's it!" explodes Rocket as he moves to separate himself from Mantis.

"Rocket please, this solves nothing" implores Mantis, moving to keep herself between the two of them.

"I agree" comes a voice, it's owner moving down the stairs towards them. Peter, his voice a low murmur, continues talking as he slowly approaches them. "We're all in a ship Rocket. A ship, need I remind you, that is currently traveling through the vacuum of space at an astonishing speed. So, if you shoot Drax, the only thing you're going to hurt is yourself, and him, and probably all of us. Anyways, just don't do it dude."

Rocket blinks several times, his mind trying to process the menagerie of words coming out of Peter. Finally, opening his mouth to respond he instead chokes and coughs several times, drawing confused looks from the rest of them. "Dude, Quill, you smell like booze. Like *cough* really bad."

"That's not- I do not- really, still?"

"Yeah" splutters Rocket, "you smell like a cheap date, or for you a normal one."

"I changed my clothes" insists Peter, pulling on his fresh shirt.

"It's like coming out of your pores" insists Rocket, removing one arm from his gun to cover his nose.

"Quill" admonishes Drax, "you're not supposed to be drinking, the medication-"

"-we'll talk about that in a moment" comes another voice, Gamora's, as she makes her way down the stairs. "Right now Rocket; I need you to lower that gun."

"Wait, hold on a minute" insists Peter angrily, gesturing to both of them. "Gamora, you didn't bring me down here to talk to them, you want to talk with all of them here about the stupid medication!"

"We'll get to that" says Gamora, passing Peter and continuing towards Rocket. "Drax, apologize for drawing that face."

Drax looks at her indignetly as he says "I didn't draw that."

"What!?" exclaims Rocket.

"He did" says Drax, pointing towards Groot who is sitting in a corner, his attention completely absorbed by a new handheld video game.

"That is not cool dude" says Rocket to Groot as he lowers his gun.

"Groot, you know that video game time is only after you finish your homework" says Gamora as she moves over to him. Bending down and picking up a discarded data pad at his feet she comments "you haven't even started your math problems."

Groot's eyes don't leave his video game as he mutters "I _am_ Groot."

"Of course math is important, you'll use it all the time" says Gamora, pulling the video game out of his hands and replacing it with the learning pad.

Groot stares at it with a sour expression, remarking "I am Groot."

"Learning can be fun" insists Gamora, turning her head to look at the others she mouths "back me up!"

"Nah Groot, don't listen to her" says Peter, sidling up next to Gamora with his arms crossed, "next thing you know she's going to be trying to force some stupid medication on you."

Gamora stares daggers at him, hissing "what did we say about undermining each other around him?"

Ignoring her, he continues "be like me. I only finished the fourth grade and I turned out fine."

"I **am** Groot."

"WHAT" yells Peter, "who told you that!?"

"I _am_ Groot."

"You did not hear it through the grapevine" rants Peter, turning his attention towards Rocket. "You told him didn't you?"

Rocket shrugs his shoulders as he says "you can't prove that."

"Wait a minute" says Gamora incredulously, "you don't know how to do division?"

"You can't prove that" argues Peter, turning back towards her.

"Or multiplication" adds Rocket.

"Ah-ha!" exclaims Peter, wheeling back around to face Rocket, "so you _do_ admit you told him!"

"Nope" smiles Rocket, "the thing about multiplication was just a guess."

Peter deflates a little, realizing his mistake. "It doesn't matter" he says, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, "never needed it anyway. I've gotten through 37 years without it and I don't feel at all embarrassed to admit that."

Rocket rolls his eyes as he asks "what's nine times four?"

Peter looks around the room as if he didn't hear him, then, quietly, he begins counting it out on his fingers.

Everyone groans loudly, causing Peter to shout over them "alright, alright, I admit it's not very cool but it gets the job done people."

"What if you have to count to a number past ten?" asks Drax, studying his own hands.

"That's easy, you just start at the first finger again" says Peter, demonstrating it for him.

"What if it's a really big number?" asks Mantis.

"Well, then you get a computer to do it for you."

Gamora raises an eyebrow, asking "what if you don't have a computer?"

Peter gestures towards Rocket, "then you use him. If you can get through the snarling and the snapping he's the best calculator nobody would buy!"

"I'm not a calculator!" snapps Rocket.

"Just throwing it out there, to anybody who wants to answer it, what's four divided by eight thousand seven hundred and sixty-four?"

" _Two-thousand-one-hundred-and-ninety-one"_ blurts out Rocket, "but that doesn't prove anything!"

"I knew it" cackles Peter smugly, "you just can't help yourself!"

Gamora throws up her hands in-between the two of them, "that's enough, both of you; we have something more important to talk about."

Peter pushes her hand away from him, "oh here we go" he mutters.

"Yes, here we go" states Gamora, turning to face him directly. "You haven't taken your medication for the past three days Peter-"

"-What!" interrupts Drax, "Bakerate will kill you if you don't take the treatments Quill-"

"-I know that-"

"-It'll spread from your leg to all your other appendages, and once it reaches your brain-"

"-well I wouldn't have that hole in my leg if you and Gamora hadn't _insisted_ on attacking Luminary Station!"

"We believed Luminary Station was a staging area for Thanos" recounts Gamora, "and we had gotten intelligence from Nova Core that they were preparing to stage an assault on a populated planet. In hindsight maybe-"

"-what" exclaims Rocket, "to hell with hindsight, things didn't look right from the start. No life signs, no outward defenses, it couldn't have more obviously been a trap if Thanos had written 'come and get it' on the outside!"

"The threat was still real" insists Drax, "and a warrior does not shy away from a fight, even if the enemy shows you their back."

"I **am** Groot."

"They didn't show us their backs" interprets Mantis, "they opened the door."

"This is all in the past" asserts Gamora, "what's happening now is-

"-Luminary station is not just in the past" contends Peter, gesturing to his right leg, "it's still happening to me!"

A loud beeping noise, emanating from the cockpit, cuts him off as the main computer screen in the engine room lights up with the message "Incoming Transmission."

"I'm taking this up in the cockpit" says Peter as he moves over to touch several buttons on the display, "the rest of you can stay down here for all I care."

~oOo~

The red light from an incoming transmission flashes on the cockpit's dashboard as Peter slowly lowers himself into his seat, gingerly avoiding putting too much pressure onto his right leg. Settling himself into his chair, Peter reaches over and presses a button on his personal console to accept the call. The red light stops flashing as the display before him lights up with the words 'Receiving Transmission', followed by a progress bar detailing the slow decryption of the call. "All this fancy future tech and you still have to wait to make a phone call" grumbles Peter angrily as he pushes the screen to the side, surveying his surroundings for something to occupy his time.

Unfortunately, the cockpit is surprisingly clean, Gamora's doing most likely, and nothing jumps out at him at first. But then, his eyes fall onto a small rubber ball he had given Rocket, tucked away in the side pocket of his nearby chair. The ball had started out as a joke, something for Rocket to squeeze his anger out on when he got pissed, but remembering all the times he had seen him use it, Peter believes it had actually turned into quite the effective tool. "Rocket would never admit it helps" thinks Peter as he leans over from his seat and pulls it out of its pouch. Rolling it around in his hand and admiring it's pot marked surface, the result of Rocket's claws, he does not notice the form approaching him from behind.

"Peter?"

His body jolts from surprise, causing the ball to fly out of his hand and bounce across the grated floor, disappearing beneath Rocket's seat.

Keeping the curse words to himself he turns around to talk to his visitor. "Hello Mantis, can I do something for you?"

Mantis's eyes dart from his now empty hand to the space below Rocket's chair, "was that, um?"

"Yeah" sighs Peter as he pulls himself up from his chair. "Don't worry about it, I'll get it" he says as he slumps down onto all fours to peer beneath the seat. "So, you wanted to ask me something?"

"I'm very sorry; I did not mean to surprise you" she nervously responds.

"I'm sure you didn't because you are a very considerate person" says Peter as his eyes find the ball wedged deep under Rocket's seat. Rolling over so he's lying on his back Peter stretches his arm out as far as possible to reach for it, saying as he does "what did you want to talk about?"

Wringing her ungloved hands together she begins slowly saying "actually, I wanted to talk about you."

Peter peers out from beneath the chair, "that's my favorite subject" he says, arm still reaching for the ball.

"Oh good" says Mantis, smiling. "How is your leg healing?" she asks with the same smile.

Sticking his head back under the chair Peter mutters "and that's my _least_ favorite subject."

Smile disappearing, Mantis once again sounds nervous as she says "I am sorry, perhaps I should not have asked that question."

"No no I just, you know, what with Gamora always riding me about the medicine and the near constant, whatever, it just gets a little irritating is all" rambles Peter as he returns from under the chair, ball not in hand. "But the leg is fine, or getting fine, it'll be fine" insists Peter as he looks up at Mantis from his sitting position. "Just needs a little more time is all."

Mantis's smile returns to her face, if not quite as large as before. Seemingly satisfied by this, Peter begins to haul himself back to his feet, using the back of Rocket's chair as leverage. But halfway off the ground, his hand slips, and with his right leg unable to support his weight, Peter begins to fall backwards. Reacting on instinct Mantis reaches out and grabs ahold of his flailing hands.

Her antennae light up, her eyes go wide, and as Mantis lets out a loud yelp of surprise she involuntarily jerks her hands back, sending Peter who still hadn't fully regained his balance tumbling onto his back.

Her body shaking all over, Mantis wails "YOU ARE IN PAIN!"

"I'd say that's pretty accurate" grumbles Peter from his position on the floor, leg alight and burning hot.

"NO" continues Mantis in the same vain, eyes wild and half-mad. "EMOTIONAL PAIN, A DEEP UNWELLNESS. YOU FEEL USELESS."

Peter stays on his back, unmoving, staring though the glass roof of the Milano into the millions of stars above. He does not respond.

Her antennae turn a deep blue and her eyes settle into a distant stare as she slowly says "you feel worse than useless... you feel unloved."

Peter still doesn't respond.

"You feel," Mantis's eyes begin to water, "as if this might be your new normal."

Hearing footsteps coming up the stairs, Mantis turns to see Gamora arrive at their top. Looking between the two of them, him lying on his back, her with tears in her eyes, Gamora pauses in confusion.

Mantis, her antennae finally extinguished, wipes her eyes vigorously as she hurries past Gamora and down the stairs to the lower decks, passing by Drax at a run as she does so.

"What is this disturbance?" asks Drax as he too arrives at the top off the stairs, seeing Gamora in the process of helping Peter off the floor.

"It's just Mantis being herself" answers Peter with little conviction as he sways back and forth, eventually having to reach out for the back of his chair.

"Did you fall over?" asks Gamora, offering her hand in support. Peter looks at it for a moment and then pushes it away, saying "it's a bit more complicated than that."

Just then, from Peter's monitor, a warbling alien voice speaks. "One thousand *hummm* suns shine on this meeting, this one is most *hummm* pleased to make your acquaintance."

The three of them turn to the monitor and are greeted by the sight of a red skinned alien. Shorter than a normal human but still taller than a bipedal mammal like Rocket its scaly skin and large yellow fin, running from the top of its head down it's back, give it the appearance of an upright fish. But as it's sea green eyes rove between the three of them waiting for an answer, a cool intelligence is evident in them.

"Oh great, a Ludberdite" mutters Peter, "fish people freak me out."

"But you're okay with a talking raccoon" asks Gamora as she reaches out for the un-mute button on Peter's console.

"What does the fish man mean by a thousand suns?" asks Drax in confusion. "Is he threatening us? That amount of solar energy would incinerate you."

"Drax, the Ludberdites have a unique way of communication, much like yourself" explains Gamora, hand hovering over the mute button. "You aren't going to understand it anyway, so just, please, don't interrupt."

Ignoring Drax's indignant huff, Gamora presses the button and stands up straight, throwing her hands out wide and proclaiming "the many moons of Zaar reflect off the pools of my satisfaction at the beginning of our conversation."

The Ludberdite lowers it's head in gratefulness, letting out a low trilling sound as its yellow back fin slowly extends and closes. Peter begins to mock gagging, but a quick slap on his chest from Gamora brings him up short.

Finally raising its head, the Ludberdite exclaims "long since Zarr has *urrp* turned in the seasons have I heard an outsider speak so well and *hummmn* true!"

Gamora lowers her own head in response, saying "this one extends many thanks for the kind phrase, I was" she pauses for a moment, "raised well. This one learned of Ludberdite history and customs many years ago."

"Indeed" says the Ludberdite, "it is good to know there are still *hummm* cultured ones in the galaxy."

"Can we get to the point" mutters Peter, drawing an angry glance from Gamora. Nevertheless, she next asks "what is the reason for this ones pleasant transmission to us?"

The Ludberdite nods in understanding before saying "this one has been entrusted to offer you and your *urrrp* associates a job on behalf of my *humm* government." He holds up in his scaly four fingered hand a holo-image of a wooden box about two feet in length; engraved in gold and inset with purple gems it seems to shine even through the monochromatic image. "This one has been entrusted to offer you twenty-thousand *urrrp* units for the safe delivery of this treasure from Perpetuation *humm* Station here above Zaar to the planet Ortus and their *urrrp* ruler."

Before Gamora can respond Peter once again breaks in, exclaiming "that's like a week long journey! Where not some kind of delivery service dude, find someone else to do your legwork."

The Ludberdite turns its eyes towards Peter, but not its body, as it says "this one, acting as a representative of this one's *humm* government, can only say that this package requires the upmost protection. More so than any *urrrp* courier service can provide."

This time, Gamora gets in ahead of Peter as she says "this one and it's crew would be happy to facilitate this transaction. For the price of twenty-thousand units."

Incredulous, Peter turns in his seat towards her and tries to interject, but the Ludberdite speaks first, saying "may many blessings of the almighty she-mother come upon you during your travels Guardians. We eagerly await your arrival."

"Hold on a minute" snaps Peter at the Ludberdite as he slowly rises to his feet. "This one" he begins, but it's too late as the screen cuts to black before he can finish. Peter and Gamora immediately begin angrily talking over one-another.

"What the hell was that Peter, you were totally out of line-"

"-I can't believe you accepted that job for us, it's nearly a week of busy-work-"

"-we need the money, and twenty thousand for a courier job is-"

"-crap that's what it is! At least seven thousand in fuel, not to mention all the other expendables-"

"-cease this useless yammering!" interjects Drax, stepping between the two of them. Facing Peter he says "you were very rude to the fish person even though he did nothing to you. Gamora was much more polite."

"Thank you" says Gamora, crossing her arms in satisfaction.

Just then Rocket, follow closely by Groot, tops the stairs and arrives in the cockpit. "Only twenty thousand units Gamora? You should've gotten at least forty out of that guy."

"Thank you" says Peter, crossing his arms in satisfaction.

"Ain't a compliment for you dude" says Rocket, although Peter appears at least not to hear him.

"What is your problem?" demands Gamora of Peter.

"You took this job without even asking the rest of us" retorts Peter, "and twenty thousand is a terrible price, me and Rocket both agree on that."

"We need the money" explains Gamora, calming down quite a bit. "We're still trying to pay off the surgery that had to be done to your leg."

"Oh, somehow it's always my fault" says Peter as he throws his hands up in frustration. Turning for the stairs and limping his way towards them he adds over his shoulder "by the way, Drax, you should ask Gamora how she knew all about the Ludberdite's."

With that, he steps past Rocket and Groot and disappears down the stairs to the common room.

"What's got him so pissed off" asks Rocket as he walks over and hops into his empty seat.

"I **am** Groot."

"Nah, I don't think it's that" answers Rocket. "It's probably got to do with his gimp leg."

Drax, however, has his attention firmly fixed on Gamora. "How did you know of the fish man's ways?" he asks.

She, her eyes fixed in the middle distance, lost in thought, doesn't respond.

"How did you know?" asks Drax again.

"I" she begins, still lost in thought, "I was taught them from a young age."

Suddenly, from somewhere below deck, the rumbling base of a Peter's music cuts through.

"Oh great" complains Rocket as he pretends to block up his large ears. "Now I've got to listen to his tunes for the rest of the day.

"I'll talk to him" says Gamora as she breaks free from her memories and moves towards the stairs.

Rocket calls out after her, as she too disappears out of view "good, maybe you get him to calm down!"

~oOo~

 **Awesome Mix Vol. 3** **:** Commodores - Zoom

The muffled melody of the music becomes more and more clear as Gamora makes her way to Peter's room. But the words, even half heard as they are now, come to her translated after a brief moments delay. As they always do. "That's something he doesn't understand" thinks Gamora as she arrives before his door, "to the rest of us the words are always slightly off beat with the music. Universal translators are good, but even they need a few hundredths of a second." Pressing the unlock button, another thought crosses her mind, "I wonder if anyone's ever told him that? I could tell him-"

The door slides open in front of her, revealing a hunched over Peter sitting at his workbench, laboring hard on his mask.

"-but there are more important things to talk about" concludes her thought as she steps fully into the room.

As the door closes behind her Gamora takes a quick glance around at the rest of his space. With the clothes picked up and the empty bottles disposed of, it is much cleaner then it was earlier. And as she turns her gaze back towards him Gamora also notices that he has run an actual brush through his hair for the first time in several days. Smiling slightly at this, she decides to break the silence first.

"Have you made any progress?"

Peter's hands twitch imperceptibly as he mutters "I've been sitting here for like ten minutes, what do you think?"

"That these things take time" says Gamora as she decides to step further into the room, "and if it's rushed, what comes out at the end may not be what you want."

Hands continuing to work over his mask, Peter doesn't respond, his forced attention only betrayed by several slight glances towards her. Gamora waits in patient silence, letting the soft melody of the music fill the distance between them. Finally, with an angry huff, Peter sets down his tools on the table and turns in his chair, demanding "what? Are you just going to stand there all night?"

Gamora crosses her arms in response, saying nothing.

After staring at her for several more moments, Peter picks his tools back up and turns around to continue his slow work. Gamora silently watches him as he makes delicate motions around the edges of exposed circuitry, not offering critique when he makes a mistake or guiding him when he looks for a solution.

"Fifteen years" comments Peter during a quiet lull in the melody. He pauses, as if awaiting a response from her, but when none comes he continues "I've had this mask for fifteen years. Longest I've ever owned something besides my tunes." Setting his tools down once again Peter leans back in his chair, right hand scratching absentmindedly at his bandages.

"You've never told me how you got it" says Gamora, gesturing towards the broken mask.

Shrugging his shoulders, Peter says "I just stole it from an arms dealer, not everything's got some sort of meaningful origin."

"I know that" says Gamora, "but why did you steal it?"

"I was a seventeen year-old kid with no money, didn't really have any other options when I **had** to have it."

"Why was that?"

Peter turns in his chair to face Gamora as he asks "why was what?"

"Why did you have to have it?"

"I" begins Peter, before pausing. After seemingly searching for the right words he suddenly blurts out "all the older guys on Yondu's ship had a rep, they were already known for something. Usually that thing wasn't good but they still had a name."

"And you didn't?" asks Gamora.

"No. Peter Quill meant nothing, was the same thing to them as boy or kid" explains Peter. "So," he picks up the better half of his mask, "I started calling myself 'Star-Lord'. For a while, they'd just laugh at me" he glances sidelong at Gamora, "most still do. But it was mine, and it meant something." Looking into the red glass of its singular eye he adds "but a name wasn't enough. So when I saw this I knew I had to have it. People I stole it from chased me all through the city we were staying at, Yondu called it a 'pretty good show'. But after that, no one called me kid again." He gently tosses the half of his mask onto his bed a few feet from Gamora, muttering as he does "no one ever really called me 'Star-Lord' either. But at least I had a rep."

Peter quietly watches as she picks up his mask and examines it. Turning it over in her hand, she feels with her finger along the jagged edge where it has broken apart. After several moments, Peter says "I guess you wouldn't know what that's like, not having a name that's your own."

"I know how that feels" says Gamora as she looks up from the mask, "maybe not in the same ways you do, but I know." Peter raises an incredulous eyebrow at her so she continues, saying "most of my life my name meant fear, and death, and pain to anyone close to me. Only now am I starting to earn it back."

Slowly nodding his head up and down, Peter mutters to himself "only now," before leaning back in his chair. Setting the mask back down on the bed and drawing his eyes to hers, she asks "what's wrong Peter?"

Surprise shows in his face at the unexpected question, and for a few moments all he can do is keep her gaze. But finally, as his hand returns to scratching at his bandages, he says slowly "in two years Gamora, what have we accomplished?"

Now its Gamora's turn to raise an incredulous eyebrow at Peter as he continues, saying "we've destroyed five full stations, at least a dozen outposts, thousands of his soldiers, and probably cost Thanos a cool trillion units. But out of all of that, what have we actually done?"

"Everything you've just said" answers Gamora simply.

"No that's, you're missing the point" he argues, "what I'm saying is what have we _actually_ done?"

"You're not making any sense."

"Just take a moment and think" implores Peter, "are we any closer to stopping Thanos since the day we started hunting him down? All the bases we've destroyed, all the resources we've cost him, the guy hasn't changed. He hasn't stopped, he hasn't even slowed down!"

"Then we have to do more, work harder at stopping him-"

"-no you're not listening!" exclaims Peter, getting more and more agitated with each word. "All we're doing; it's nothing more than a drop in the ocean to him Gamora!"

"Listen to yourself" snaps Gamora, rising to her feet in anger, "you're talking like we should just give up!"

"We," Peter throws his arms out wide as if to draw in the entire ship around them, "all of us, all we can do, is not enough to stop him."

"You don't know that" interjects Gamora, but Peter continues on unabated, bringing his outstretched hands closer and closer together with each statement.

"We take one step forward, he pushes us back two-"

"-nonsense, we've made progress-"

"-we blow up one base, he builds two more-"

"-that doesn't mean he hasn't slowed down-"

"-we step foot on Luminary station," Peter hands finally come together in a loud solitary clap, "and he closes the trap like that-"

"-it was a mistake attacking so soon, I admit that, but how could we have known better-"

"-this time was just dumb luck, he only took my-"

"-he didn't take anything Peter, your leg will heal-"

"-YOU DON'T KNOW THAT" explodes Peter in a sudden fit of anger, rising out of his seat in a flash. However, the quick motion and the weakness of his right leg upsets his balance and he begins to fall forward. Gamora, with her trained reflexes, reaches out to catch him but only manages to feel the fabric of his shirt as it slides past her outstretched fingertips. Peter hits the floor hard, his hands just managing to break his fall.

"PETER" exclaims Gamora as she grabs a hold of his shoulders.

"Don't help me up" demands Peter as she begins to pull him back to his feet, "I can stand by myself!" But Gamora ignores these protests as she helps him back into the chair, taking care to keep weight off his right leg.

As he slumps down into his seat, nursing a reddening spot on his forehead, Peter gestures halfheartedly at his slightly shaking leg as he says "yeah, this sucks. I've never" he pauses mid sentence, his hand continuing to rub his forehead, "I've never felt like this before. Not since" he pauses again, this time for much longer. Gamora waits patiently, watching him. Finally, with a sigh, he says "not since I was a kid."

"Take the medication" implores Gamora as she sits back down on his bed, this time much closer to him. "Take the medication and heal."

"Medication don't matter" mutters Peter under his breath before raising it and saying "we should help people Gamora. Do what we _can do,_ not just what we _want._ "

Gamora's eyes lower in contemplation as Peter watches her face with curious anticipation. Raising them back to meet his again she remarks "on Luminary Station, before the trap was sprung, I had a similar thought. That what we're doing isn't important enough."

Peter sits up straighter, thinking that what he'd been saying has finally broken through.

"But then, Thanos blew up the entire place just to get to us. He's worried Peter I know it! We must be getting close, or doing some real damage to him."

"Or he could just want us dead" retorts Peter, "like when you slap at a bug on your arm." And as Gamora leans back, herself irritated that what she's been saying hasn't gotten though, Peter continues, saying "I'm tired of feeling like I ain't doing nothing. I want to feel good again."

"Well" says Gamora as she stands back up, arms crossed, "I'm sorry that stopping the biggest mass murderer in history doesn't do it for you."

Peter's brows draw together as he argues "you still don't get it Gamora! We could keep after him for the rest of our lives and never get close. I don't want to spend the rest of my life like that. I want to feel like a hero again while I still can!"

"And YOU still don't get it" remarks Gamora forcefully, "I'm not going to stop hunting Thanos until he breathes his last tortured breath!"

"We'll die if we keep trying" says Peter matter-of-factly, "I can't live like that and neither should you."

Gamora, turning her back on Peter, steps over towards the door and reaches out with her hand to open it. Pressing the button, her face half turns towards him as she says "I live with more than you'll ever know Peter." And with that she starts to step through the door.

Only for it to come down again right in front of her face.

"It does that sometimes" explains Peter as he picks up his tools and returns to working on his mask.

"I think I accidentally pressed it twice" says Gamora as she presses the button more carefully this time. The door once again rises into the ceiling and this time she steps through. As it closes Gamora turns slightly to see Peter busy at work, one hand tending to his mask, the other scratching at his leg.

And as it clicks shut, the melody of the music, the words out of tune, are once again muffled.


	3. The Tales of Paradise Park - Part One

Chapter 3: The Tales of Paradise Park – Part One

 **Section One: My Little Black Book**

 ** _Eleven Months Ago_**

Peter claps his hands together, drawing everyone's attention to him.

"Alright friends, I know we've been walking for a while but this is the moment you've all been waiting for. This, is, **Paradise**!"

He brings his arms around in a sweeping gesture, pointing to the large gates behind him. They are wrought iron, very tall, and on their front, words are carved in a large blocky script.

It reads "JAFFA PARADISE PARK: HAPPIEST PLACE IN THE GALAXY."

"Wow" exclaims Rocket, "a gate with words! I've never seen one of them before."

"Well they are very impressive when made with this artistry" comments Drax, "and very useful."

Rocket rolls his eyes, but Peter ignores him as he says "an excellent observation Drax." And as he leads them all through the open double doors he adds "but what's really cool is what's behind them!" True to his word, as they crest a small rise in the path they had been walking down, they do come upon quite a sight.

Twinkling lights blazing bright in the evening light, appetizing aromas of freshly made food wafting up to fill their nostrils, the sounds of laughter and screams of excitement carried on a warm breeze. These things make up what is laid out before them; a vast amusement park, stretching for several miles. Hundreds of rides composed of swirling contraptions of all shapes and sizes fill their view while game booths and food stands fill in the gaps in this forest of noise and light. But at the center of this dizzying collection sits a large lake, itself stretching more than a mile in diameter. And as it's calm surface reflects the myriad of lights that make up the park, it seems to shines with it's own luminosity, magnifying everything around it into a rainbow swirl of many hues.

"Man I love this place; closest thing to Earth entertainment you can find out here" says Peter as he slowly turns his back on the magnificent sight and faces the rest of them. Eyes beaming brightly he exclaims "I still can't believe I convinced you guys to come here!"

"You didn't" comments Gamora, her arms crossed as her eyes scan the vast park before them. "I seem to remember some direct threats and attempts at coercion."

Peter shrugs his shoulders in partial response, then adds "I'll do whatever it takes to get you guys to enjoy yourselves. I've always been upfront about that."

Mantis however, her eyes great black orbs as she takes in the dazzling display of colors, practically bounces on her heels in anticipation. "It is so beautiful" she gushes, "like its own galaxy of thousands of stars!"

"It sure is" agrees Peter as he walks over to her. "Rides, games, good food, it's all there just waiting for you" he says, drawing a line in the air towards the park with an outstretched arm for emphasis.

"And suckers" murmurs Rocket gleefully, rubbing his paws together, "there are plenty of suckers waiting for us too. Even if they don't know it yet."

Turning to him, Peter pinches the bridge of his nose together in frustration and implores "could you please try not to rob people for one night dude!"

"Not a chance" he retorts, "me and Groot have the perfect plan set up, ain't that right buddy?"

Groot, now having grown a few inches taller than Rocket, looks almost as excited as Mantis as he fiddles with the oversized bag on his back.

"I **am** Groot!"

"That too" chuckles Rocket, "we're about to make some real candy and money tonight!"

Peter sighs exasperatedly, then says "just don't get caught because I'm not going to bail you out of jail tonight!"

"Relax Quill, we'll be as quick as one, two" he holds up a brown leather wallet, "three."

Peter swipes it back from him, "when the hell did you take it?" he demands.

Rocket gestures over towards Groot, saying "he swiped it out of your pocket about twenty seconds ago when you were going all Willy Wonka on Mantis." At a surprised look from Peter he adds "what? I've watched a few human movies."

"He was trying to discover the source of your Umpa-Lumpa joke" chimes in Drax.

Rocket shoots him an angry glare, "thanks for that friend; you were supposed to keep it a secret. Oh, and by the way, screw you Quill, I don't look a dam thing like those green haired freaks."

Peter holds up his hands, "alright everybody, calm down, we're starting the night off on the wrong foot." Looking around his eyes spot a large tree stump, and as he hops up on top of it he raises his arms out wide. In a loud voice he proclaims "I'd like to deliver a toast, to good health-"

"-do you have anything to drink?" interrupts Gamora.

Peter pauses for a moment, "no" he finally admits.

"Then it's not a toast-"

"-look we'll do it with imaginary liquid, whatever you'd like" he exclaims as he mimes holding out a heavy cup. "This is a toast to good health, good family, good times, and good fortunes. Furthermore, I'd like to say that, yeah, this place is awesome so let's have a good time tonight! I mean, stay away from the matter scrambler wheel, I'm pretty sure it's killed a few people... and Bathgu Lake is like full of dangerous creatures… but anyways, in conclusion-"

"-get on with it!" pleads Rocket.

"In conclusion, I'd just like to say you guys are my family, and there's no one I'd rather be spending this time with then you lot. Drink up!" he commands, pretending to drain his nonexistent glass of imaginary liquid. Mantis and Drax join him in draining their glasses while Rocket mocks crumpling his up and throwing it to the ground. Gamora seemingly isn't paying attention, her eyes still surveying the fairgrounds before her. Groot can't seem to figure out how his imaginary cup works.

Jumping down from the stump Peter exclaims "let's go!"

"After this one ground rule" interrupts Gamora, drawing groans from the rest of them. "Don't use your real names, and don't tell anyone who you are or who you're with. This is a relatively peaceful planet but we have a lot of enemies. Its best that we keep a low profile."

"Agreed" says Peter, clapping his hands together once more. "Now, everybody go crazy!"

Rocket and Groot tear off towards the park, Mantis and Drax following behind them at a relatively quick pace. Peter, however, lingers behind, keeping a slow pace with Gamora as they make they way down the gentle slope and towards the turnstiles.

"So" he begins, glancing over at Gamora, "I want you to admit something."

"That seems highly unlikely, but you can certainly try" retorts Gamora.

"You don't even know what I'm going to say yet."

"No" she admits, "but I'm guessing it's going to be something foolish and irrelevant."

"HA-HA, you really do listen" says Peter, "but seriously, I want you to admit that there is possibly, maybe, a chance that you'll enjoy yourself tonight."

Gamora is silent for several moments, eyes still looking ahead to the quickly approaching park.

"Sure."

"But why not" begins Peter before spluttering in surprise "wait-you're serious?"

"Yeah, this place looks like a little fun" she says, after glancing over at Peter who still has his mouth open in shock she adds, "was that really that big of a surprise?"

Peter closes his mouth, "a little" he says "but I think it may have been the most awesome thing you've ever said."

Gamora smiles a little despite herself, "I do have fun sometimes you know?"

Peter looks at her with a raised eyebrow, Gamora huffs indignantly.

"Don't give me that look."

Peter whips his head around to the front, "what look? There definitely wasn't a look involved there."

"Oh really" asserts Gamora, "because I think I just saw a little of _that_ look a moment ago."

"Nah that was all in your head" says Peter, "if anything it was the 'I totally believe you' look."

"Uh-Huh" she begins, but Peter interrupts her by grabbing her arm and pulling her along, bringing them into the back of a short line terminating at the ticket turnstile spotted at the top of the hill.

Gamora grabs his arm in return and pulling him close she whispers in his ear "remember, don't use our real names."

Peter gives her the OK sign with his hand which she takes as some form of assurance he understands. In only a few minutes of waiting the both of them step up to an entrance booth.

An old grizzled woman, her set of four eyes staring at them through overlarge spectacles, looks expectantly at Peter. He glances at Gamora and begins "hello friend, my name is Pe-" his voice catches in his throat "-eeeedro. Pedro, yes, my name is Pedro. And this is my lovely wife-" Gamora elbows him in the side "-er, um, girlfriend-" she elbows him again "-companion, Gail. This is my companion Gail. And we'd love entrance into your beautiful park."

The attendant stares at them, eyes unblinking. "How many-"

"-actually" interrupts Peter, "my friends call me Pedo, and since we _are_ friends, you can use that."

Her four eyes slowly open and close in the longest blink imaginable. "You're friends call you Pedo?"

"They sure do, the 'r' is silent" he explains happily. Then, as if a light bulb suddenly goes off in his head, he splutters "WAIT!... Ha-ha, my friends don't call me Pedo, that's silly… and horrifying; I was only kidding about-"

"-please excuse my _companion_ " injects Gamora, shooting him a withering look, "he took a really bad fall a few days ago and hasn't been feeling right in the head since."

She, not looking up from her monitor, continues her question from before. "How many tickets?"

"Five hundred units worth, for the both of us" says Peter hurriedly as he slides the unit slips under the portico in her window, grateful to be done with that exchange.

She types several commands into her computer and prints out two badges, sliding them back under the portico to Pedro and Gail.

Peter stares at them, asking after a moment "uh, what are those?"

"ID badges" she explains, "they contain an electronic signature of your tickets."

Peter, picking them up, looks at her with a confused expression as he says "but, and I don't mean to sound rude, but what happened to the physical tickets?"

"These are your tickets" she says with a monotone voice, gesturing to the badges in his hand. Looking past him she calls out, "next in line please."

"Wait, hold on" insists Peter, "what happened to the _actual_ tickets!? They were so cool, and, and you can't just change that-"

"-thank you for your help" Gamora says to the teller as she pulls a complaining Peter away and through the turnstile. When they are out of earshot she whirls around on him.

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF KRUTACK WAS THAT?" she hisses, "you were terrible! I don't think I've ever seen someone be so clueless and unsubtle in my whole life!"

Peter isn't looking at her, his eyes instead focused on the two ID badges still in his hands. "They got rid of the tickets" he mumbles sadly, "they used have different colors for each year, with the date printed on them."

Gamora snatches her ID badge out of his hand, "and Gail!? You really couldn't think of a better name for me than that?"

Peter eyes slowly rise to meet hers and whatever past memory he had been revisiting passes. "I thought I did alright" he says as he turns to lead her through the main entrance way of the park. "But do me a favor-"

"-unlikely-"

"-if we ever visit Terra never, EVER, call me Pedo to anyone there. Ok?"

Gamora's brows furrows as she looks at him, "why? What does Pedo mean?"

"Just don't" pleads Peter, holding his hands out in protest.

Gamora quiets as they continue on, listening with a mostly honest interest as Peter takes his time to describe to her several of the larger rides they are passing. Finally, as he finishes up a long explanation about the time he had nearly been thrown off a ride affectionately known as the "Tenderizer", Gamora breaks in.

"How do you even know so much about this place?"

"Huh" responds Peter, too busy watching the "Tenderizer" spin around in it's cycle to hear her properly.

"I mean, Jaffa is a nice planet and all, but it's not known for it's parks. How did you even find this place?"

Peter turns towards her and begins to speak, but then, something behind her catches his eye.

"OH YES!" he yells, tearing past her and up to a large booth with a thick velvet looking curtain covering the entrance.

"What is that thing?" she asks.

"Photo booth" explains Peter, pulling aside the curtain to reveal a small wooden bench in front of a camera. As he steps inside he comments "I'm glad there's at least a few things in the park they haven't changed."

Gamora shakes her head as she rests her hand on her hips. "I don't want my picture taken."

"Oh don't worry, this first one's just for me" says Peter as he slides his ID card through a slot on the front of the machine. Adjusting himself so he sits up straighter he smiles a broad smile as a light flashes and the camera winks. Standing up and stepping outside his hand fishes through a small receptacle on the front of the machine and pulls out a printed version of the picture. After admiring it for a moment he slides it into his pocket.

"Can you believe it? An actual physical picture. This is the only one of these machines I've ever seen out here" comments Peter as he steps back inside and beckons for Gamora to join him. But she hasn't even moved her hands from her hips. Peter rolls his eyes as he says "what, you don't think you're pretty enough to have your picture taken?"

Gamora's eyebrows rise just a little in surprise, but the rest of her body doesn't move. "No, I just…"

Peter waits for an answer, but Gamora continues thinking, her mouth on the verge of words.

"I… don't-"

"-If it's taking you this long to think of an answer" says Peter, "why not just do it?"

Gamora can't think of an answer to that either, so finally, she steps into the booth, sliding onto the bench next to him. She looks over to him, her expression a mix between anger and apprehension.

"Relax" he croons, "it's just a picture." Sliding his card through the receptacle he suddenly leans over to Gamora and whispers in her ear "On earth, Pedo means-"

Gamora eyes go wide and a roaring laugh breaks out of somewhere deep inside of her.

The light flashes and the camera winks.

 **Awesome Mix Vol. 3:** Johnny Thunders - You Can't Put Your Arms Round A Memory

Stepping past Gamora who is still doubled up in laughter, Peter reaches into the small receptacle at the front of the machine and pulls out the newly printed picture. As he studies all of its features, his thumb idley rubs up and down it's smooth plastic-like surface.

Finally calming down enough to speak, Gamora says in-between laughs "I can't believe you called yourself that Peter! No wonder your face went bright red after you said it!"

"I really am as stupid as they say" jokes Peter as he steps past her and back into the booth.

"Now, let's do a goofy one!"

* * *

 _ **Present Day**_

The small leather book, its corners nicked and worn, sits lightly upon his hand. Its outside, black with a pattern of hexagons, is scuffed from many years of use. Opening it, words in a flowing script can be read on the inside cover.

"For Peter Jason Quill. May it be filled with many happy memories. Love, Mom."

On the next page, in the upper right hand corner, a penciled in date can be read.

"June 24th, 1986"

Meredith Quill smiles brightly out of the aged Polaroid as under her arm the young Peter has his mouth open in a loud laugh. His eyes are on his hands, currently occupied by several Hot-wheel cars. A yellow ticket with the words ADMIT ONE is glued underneath.

On the next page Meredith looks years older, although the date only reads June 21st, 1987. Peter, the toys gone from his hands, smiles a little, although his eyes are on the hunched form of his mother. There is no ticket this time.

There is no picture for 1988 or 1989.

The next page lists its year as 1990. The photo booth is different and Peter stares blankly out, directly at the camera. A sickly yellow hand on his shoulder, the rest of the owner's body is out of frame, holds him in place. There again is no ticket.

There is no picture for 1991 or 1992.

On the page numbered 1993 Peter is now a teenager with several pimples and acne scars visible on his face. But this time he is smiling, if not quite as broadly as when he was a kid. Beside him sits Yondu, not smiling but with his eyes on Peter. Underneath the picture a ticket, blue with white strips, is taped.

There is no picture for 1994, 1995, 1996, 1997, 1998 or 1999.

But on the page numbered with the year 2000, Peter, now a man, smiles a true smile with Yondu by his side. The old Ravager has his arm kept to the side and he stares directly into the camera, but his smile is small and genuine. Another ticket is taped under this picture, this time red and gold.

For the years 2001 through 2012, the pictures are mostly similar. Sometimes Yondu and Peter switch places on the bench, in the year 2009 Kraglin joins them, but the smiles are always there and happiness is evident in their eyes. Under each photo a different colored ticket is taped with care.

At a quick glance the picture for 2013 looks no different than all those that recently preceded it, except that maybe Peter is trimming his beard a bit differently. But his eyes, previously always on the camera, are lowered slightly, looking somewhere off to the left of frame. His smile, not quite as broad. A solid black ticket is taped under the photo.

There is no picture for 2014.

Finally, for the year 2015, Peter smile seems to stretch to the corners of his mouth while Gamora looks up at him, frozen in time with a laugh on her face. "The goofy one had been good" he thinks to himself, "but nothing could top this." And this time, instead of a ticket, words in his own halting script are written.

 _"Proof that miracles do happen._

 _No ticket, but still a good night._ "

As on that night, Peter rubs his thumb over the picture.

The only light in his room, a desk lamp sitting on his workbench, lights up the space and casts long shadows all about. Peter sits on his bed, his thumb still rubbing the picture absentmindedly as his other hand scratches at the fresh bandages on his leg.

Something said last night had brought him back to this, one of the few air looms he had had with him when Yondu took him from earth. He remembers the picture from 1990 vividly, when a crew-member, _Zaxri_ Peter thinks was his name, had found the book he had insisted on taking another photo as some kind of sick joke. When Yondu had found out some time later he had him marooned on some deserted planet. The photo from 1993 had been his way of making up for it and Peter smiles to himself at the memory.

They hadn't been back to Paradise Park in many years when the photo from year 2000 was taken and it had required a lot of talk to convince Yondu the other guys wouldn't see it as weak. But for years after that, it had become a happy, if secret, tradition.

2013's photo had been hard to see again, but Peter had lingered long on it. He had already been planning to betray Yondu for months when it was taken, but looking at it again reminds him of his guilt. Tears well up in his eyes and they would have fallen if not for Yondu himself.

He would have thought it was so stupid, being sad over a picture.

But it was really 2015's, the last and most recent, that he had opened the book to see. Now looking upon it he can't take his eyes off it. The light in her eyes, his smile, it seems like a lifetime ago. His thumb finally stops its long procession and comes to a halt.

"It had been a good night" he thinks to himself as he finally closes the book.

Just then, an electronic voice comes to life on the speakers. "Landing at Perpetuation Station" it states matter-of-factly

Peter's brow furrow in confusion and he calls out to the metal idiot, "who's taking the ship in for a landing?"

After a momentary pause it answers in the same monotone drone, "Master Groot is piloting the ship."

Peter jumps up from the bed so fast he nearly topples over as his injured leg starts to give out from under him. "Like hell he is!" bellows Peter as he tosses the small leather bound book onto his bed. Taking off at a hurried limp he stumbles out of his cabin, yelling "you better not crash my ship Groot!"

The book, opening on impact with the bed, once again displays the photo of Gamora and Peter. The light from the workbench draws discordant shadows over its surface, cutting the two of them apart.

* * *

 **Section Two: Does This Raccoon Have a Soul?**

 ** _Eleven Months Ago_**

Rocket's voice is calm and steady as he instructs Groot. "Alright, that's the one, just lower it down nice and easy- WAIT NO, PULL UP- okay that's good, that's real good. Steady, Groot, steady, it's all about smooth motions." Rocket holds his breath for a long moment. "Have you got it? YES! That was a masterful job buddy!"

A large gray purse, swiped from a woman's shoulder, plops into Rocket's paws. He feverishly pulls it open and examining its contents, exclaims "oh hell yes! This lady's got like 600 hundred units. That brings the running total to" he makes a notation on a sheet of paper pressed up against Groot's back, "12,635!"

Groot murmurs in approval, his vines reaching into the purse and removing a large bar of candy that had been placed inside.

Rocket hops out of the bush they had been hiding in, followed closely behind by Groot, the bag on his back now nearly three quarters full of lifted purses, wallets, watches, jewelry and all other kinds of valuables.

"Let's hit a few more people before this place starts clearing out" says Rocket, surveying his surroundings for a suitable hiding spot. Groot, however, stops in his tracks to stare in wonderment at a nearby ride. Standing nearly 200 feet tall a massive Ferris wheel, pulsing out bright bursts of neon light up and down its massive body, towers above him.

He turns away from the Ferris wheel and back to Rocket, asking in an excited tone "I _am_ Groot?"

"What'd ya say Groot?" Rocket mumbles through a mouthful of fried food, something he had nicked from a food truck a little while ago. Groot's arm is extended, pointing towards the Ferris wheel and Rocket follows the line of it with his eyes.

Rocket shakes his head, saying "in a bit Groot, I want to get in a little more stealing first." He begins to turn away, but Groot's large amber eyes catch his attention. They are wet, tears threatening to well up in them.

Rocket pauses for a moment and then sighs loudly. "Fine, we'll take a few rides on the wheel. But one of these days you're going to be too old for that being sad thing to work on me Groot, and I won't miss it, not one bit!"

Groot hops up and down in excitement and begins to take off towards the Ferris wheel until Rocket catches him by the shoulder. "Hold on a minute buddy, we've got to go together. I'm supposed to be looking out for you when the rest aren't here, whatever that means."

They enter into the back of the long line to the ride, and after some angry consternation by Rocket and much happy chattering by Groot; the two of them arrive at the front.

The attendant keeps looking ahead as if expecting the next people he can see in line to speak or offer their ID badges and it isn't until an irritated cough from Rocket that he lowers his eyes, his actual next customers rising no higher than his knees.

"Hey there uh" Rocket searches with his eyes for a name badge but can't find one, "Mr. No Name, we'd like to ride the wheel thing."

Without speaking he points to a sign to the right of him of an anthropomorphic alien thing with its tentacle outstretched. The words underneath read "YOU MUST BE THIS TALL TO RIDE THIS RIDE," and the creature's arm sits nearly two feet above their heads.

Rocket's false smile begins to crack and falter, but he holds it together through sheer willpower. "Now sir, I understand what the sign says, but certainly you must have some sort of exception for such eminent guests such as ourselves before you?"

The attendant raises an eyebrow, "what y'all done?"

"You Xandarian?" asks Rocket.

"Yep."

Rocket congratulates himself internally on guessing where he came from on just smell alone, he had gotten pretty good at that. Continuing, he says "you remember when the Dark Aster came and nearly blew up the planet before a band of _mostly_ really cool outlaws stopped it?"

The attendant nods in understanding.

"Well" he says, gesturing to himself and Groot, "you're looking at two of them."

He stares at them for a long moment, long enough that Rocket begins to walk forward, until-

"-yeah, I ain't caring much for Xandar. You guys still can't ride the ride."

Rocket stops in his tracks, calm expression finally breaking as he exclaims "What! I thought you was Xandarian?"

"I ain't been on Xandar since I was like three. That guy would have done me a favor and killed me some in-laws, so I don't much care for whomever you claim you's are."

Rocket hands shake in anger as teeth bared he snarls "man I wish Ronan was here just so I could see him disintegrate you into so much stupid paste!" Through his snarling he picks up the sounds of quiet sobbing next to him. "Oh great" yells Rocket, "now you've made Groot cry! I hope you're happy asshole!"

He shrugs his shoulders, calling the next people up in line.

Walking back through the crowd of people Rocket's shoulders heave and shake in anger as he quietly rants, "I would have torn out his throat, his eyes, and then gone down low for his-"

"I _am_ Groot?" he asks through a break in his tears.

"Oh hell no, we're riding that ride" says Rocket, immediately bringing Groot's tears to a stop. "We're just going to have to hop a fence or something."

And so, a few minutes later while no one is looking, two small figures silhouetted in the low hanging moon climb up and over the barriers to their prize.

Sliding in next to Groot in one of the open carts, Rocket removes the duffle bag from his back and zips it open. Meanwhile Groot, standing up on the seat and pulling himself up with his arms, stares out over the edge of their cart and down into the glittering park below, eyes wide with wonder.

Rocket, his eyes most decidedly not looking out over the park, pulls out the piece of paper he had been using to keep track of the money count and begins double checking the contents of their haul. "One ring, silver with green gemstones" he recites from the list, matching it with the item in the bag, "check."

His eyes continue to move down the list as he reads aloud, "six wallets: two black leather, two brown, one gray, and one…pink?" He fishes into the duffle bag and pulls out a bright pink wallet with flower stickers, opening it, thirty units tumble out and into the bag. "Well, every bit helps" he says after only a moment's hesitation.

Rotating his head towards Rocket, Groot asks a question.

"Part of it will go into the general fund for fuel, repairs, that kind of stuff" explains Rocket, trying to answer Groot's question. "The rest, well I'm putting some money aside for you-"

"-I _am_ Groot?"

"How much? A good amount, enough anyway for you to get by on for a while if anything where to happen to the rest of us."

Groot turns fully around, asking another question with his hands partly covering his mouth.

"Nah, we ain't going anywhere, and all of us put a little in each month, it ain't just me." This answer seems to satisfy Groot as he turns back to the view over the lip of the cart, but Rocket keeps talking, almost to himself. "As for the rest of the units, I've got some stuff for the ship and myself I've been looking to get; this money will just be enough for it."

Dropping the pink wallet back into the bag he continues, saying "it ain't pretty, but it's better than crap mercenary work. Nobody has to get hurt and the money is free and easy."

He looks over to Groot and begins to ask him for his help checking through the rest of the bag, but seeing him engrossed in the view, his little feet barely touching the seat beneath him, he decides to let him be.

His gaze returning to the bag his eyes come upon a curious sight. A brown envelope sticking out of a black and red purse, one of the first they had stolen. Thinking that there might be money or a check inside he picks it up and examines it, reading the words " _To Sindar_ " traced on the front. This alone makes him want to put it back, it's probably just a letter, but some strange compulsion of curiosity pushes him on and he removes a single page of twice folded brown stationary from the envelope and opens it. His eyes, with their excellent night vision, have little trouble reading the words, but the passing neon lights of the Ferris wheel make them unnecessary.

" _To Sindar,_

"What a stupid name" he thinks to himself as his eyes continue down the page to the body of the letter.

 _I hope things are well for you, wherever you may be. You are in my thoughts like a great weight; I know that is not what you would have wanted, but I feel the truth will serve us better than mischaracterization._

 _But here I am rambling and you probably want an update on our child._

"Oh great, kid talk" mutters Rocket as he nevertheless continues reading on.

 _Clerix is a healthy young boy of two, you should see the ways he plays, rolling around on his belly he likes to mimic the sounds of the sky cars that sometimes pass overhead._

 _I will always be grateful to you for joining me in creating this light in a world that seems so dark at times. I wish you could see him. I wish you could see me._

Rocket squints hard as the next line of text is wavering and not very clear.

 _Here my hand is shaking even though I know what to say, you always said I was steady when my mind wasn't but it simply is not true._

 _Even though you have been dead for over a year-_

Rocket's eyes go wide in surprise as he mutters "what the hell." He wants to pull away, put the letter back into its envelope, but his eyes can't leave the page and he continues to read almost against his will.

 _Even though you have been dead for over a year I feel as though I can still hear you. In the moments of doubt, you whisper in my ear._

 _I wonder if you can hear me?_

 _Your old boss, Mr. Verdean, reached out again to me the other day, wanting to know how I was doing. He cares less for my conscience than his own I think, but if I can offer someone catharsis, why not him? He speaks of you as his brother, gone before your time._

The words again become hard to read and Rocket holds it up closer to his face.

 _It was fate that put you on the top floor the day when the Dark Aster came, but I will never begrudge you your final act, even though it robbed me of your presence forever after. Holding the door to the stairs open after part of the ceiling came down on it, long after your mortal strength had failed. You saved twenty-three people that day Sindar, but not yourself._

Now the words become partly illegible.

 _After building… in the rubble… couldn't find your… hardest to bear._

The words return to their normal flow.

 _My therapist said writing these letters to you would help, but I'm not as sure, they seem to make me wander during the day, wrapped up in memory._

 _This is the last I will write, the rest will have to be in my mind. Some friends and I are going to Jaffa Planetary Park in a few days, a kind of place I imagine you are now. It is truly wonderful there._

 _I'm going to throw this and the other letters I will never be able to send you into Bathgu Lake. I don't know if that's what you'd like but I have to do it, for my own sanity._

 _You will always be with me Sindar, letters or no letters._

 _I love you._

 _Yours now and forever, Aretha_

 _P.S. I enclosed a recent picture of Clerix. Hopefully, wherever you are, you will see it._

Rocket stares at the letter for several moments, his mind a roiling mess. Slowing lowering the letter to his side he pulls open the purse with care. Inside ten more brown envelopes sit.

A lance of guilt stabs through his heart as his breath catches in his chest. His throat becomes choked as his eyes begin to water, but he manages to shakes the tears away. Thinking back to the last words of the letter he reaches inside of the already opened envelope and pulls out a small postage stamp sized picture.

A little boy, seemingly oblivious to the camera, throws a handful of sand into the air. The picture captures the moment before it starts to rain down on his smiling face.

Holding it up to his own face the multi-colored lights of the Ferris wheel shine brightly through its thin substance. His eyes drift over to Groot, still standing on the seat with his arms pulling him up, his gaze taking in the vast newness of his surroundings.

Rocket sighs long and heavily, placing the picture and letter back into its envelope he slides it back into the black and red purse.

 **Awesome Mix Vol. 3:** Chicago – Saturday in the Park

Suddenly, a singular idea cuts through the haze of his mind, and for the first time since he had started reading the letter a smile comes upon his angular face.

"Hey Groot" he calls out, trying to get his attention. But Groot is so fixated on the view that he doesn't hear him.

"Hey Groot" he says again, this time tugging on his shoulder until he turns around, his expression one of curiosity.

Rocket looks down at the duffel bag in his lap and then back to Groot before finally saying, "I know this sounds crazy, but we've got to give back this stuff we stole."

Groot looks down at the bag and then back to him several times before he asks "I _am_ Groot?"

Rocket laughs and shakes his head, saying "hell no, we're keeping the candy. I mean all this other stuff, it just… I dunno, it just doesn't feel right anymore."

Groot's gaze returns the shimmering lights of the park for several moments before turning back to Rocket with a determined expression.

"I **am** Groot."

Rocket doesn't know what to say for a few moments until he finally mutters "I knew you'd understand."

Groot points to the wheel, asking "I _am_ Groot?"

"Fine, one more time around" concedes Rocket, "but then we've got to get to work."

Groot returns to looking out over the park as Rocket zips up the duffel bag and hefts it onto his shoulder. Raising his eyes to the stars above he declares in a soft voice, "if anyone's listening you better not mistake this for some kind of stupid altruism, I've got a legacy of thieving to protect. This is for you Sindar, no one else."

"I _am_ Groot?"

Rocket ponders the question for a moment before answering "nah, I'll tell you when you're older Groot. Some things ain't meant for the young."

~oOo~

A newly engaged man and woman, exhausted after retracing their steps back and forth throughout the park, collapse onto an open bench. Both of them slouch low, their heads coming to rest on each other's shoulders as they breathe heavily.

After a while he reaches over and begins to gently caresses her shoulders while the woman rubs a patch of lightly colored skin on her ring finger.

Kissing the side of her cheek he mutters some words of encouragement into her ear but she is nearly inconsolable, sobbing loudly as she buries her face in her hands.

Suddenly, she seemingly notices for the first time a cool metal presence pressing into her forehead. Lowering her hands slowly from her face the light from a nearby streetlamp catches the silver luminosity of the engagement band now on her finger. She stares at it with wild eyes for a moment before jumping up from the bench, spinning around in happiness. The man leaps up and, pulling her in for a tight embrace, kisses her deeply.

~oOo~

Two Krylorian children wail loudly as their father leads them towards the exit gate of the park, their pink cheeks stained with tears. He tries to explain what happened, one moment he had his wallet the next he didn't, but they don't understand, they only know that the fun is over.

Pulling them to a stop next to a food truck he fishes in his pocket for a few of the loose units he had outside of his wallet. "If he can't send them on anymore rides maybe something to eat will calm them down," he thinks. But as his hand dances in his pocket between his keys and their ID badges, it comes to a stop on an item made of folded leather.

Pulling it out he stares at it with amazement, then, pulling out the credit chit, slaps it down on the counter of the food truck, proclaiming "I've just seen a miracle, use this to pay for the meal of the next ten customers!"

Suddenly, what appear to be a small tree and a furry beast appear at his side, willing to take him up on that offer.

~oOo~

An older Easik woman, hunched over on a bench underneath a large tree, has her hands clutched together in quiet prayer. She pleads for the return of her possesions, promising whatever deity is listening that she will do better, be better. And in the middle of another recited verse, a large gray purse falls into her lap. Nearly beside herself with relief she opens it up, but then, an angry scowl appears on her face.

Raising her head to the heavens she yells out "what happened to my candy!?"

"Sorry" calls out a voice from the tree, "Groot got hungry!"

She shakes her fist at the unseen voices as they scamper off through the branch.

~oOo~

An older man, his hands still searching the ground for his antique watch, suddenly comes upon it in the dirt.

A mother, chastising her young daughter for misplacing the pink wallet she had given her only a few days earlier, suddenly finds it in her purse

Every few minutes, all over the park, voices cry out in joy and surprise, nearly two dozen of them in two hours. It is so, after all of this, with the duffel bag being empty except for one red and black purse, Rocket and Groot come upon their last target of the night.

Holding onto the railing around Bathgu Lake, the large body of water nearly a mile wide at the center of the park, a Xandarian woman sobs softly into a handkerchief. High above her in a tree, Rocket holds the black and red purse in his paws as Groot raps several vines around his midsection.

"I _am_ Groot?"

"Nah, you've done a great job tonight" assures Rocket, looking down at the woman beneath them he adds "I've just got to do this last one myself."

Groot nods in acceptance, and then motions in question if he should start letting him down.

"Yeah, but nice and easy" he says, "I'm just going to set it down by her feet and tap her on the shoulder on the way up."

Stepping over to the edge of the large branch they had been preparing on, Rocket pushes off and begins to fall towards the ground. With vines from his feet digging into the tree branch, Groot pulls him to a hard stop about five feet above the woman. The sudden deceleration knocks most of the wind out of him, and after silently gasping for air for a few moments, he gives the signal for Groot to continue letting him down.

He descends to her right, and stretching out his arms he prepares to let go of her purse.

"Hey you, stop!"

The sudden outburst catches Rocket off guard and wheeling his head around towards the source of the voice he sees two security guards approaching him at a run.

Turning his head back towards the Xandarian woman he finds her staring at him with blue eyes wide in surprise. He smiles sheepishly and holds out the purse for her. She takes it back with a still shaking hand, her mouth moving and trying to form words. Rocket pulls on the vines attached on him, the signal for an extraction, but Groot is preoccupied with several luminous lake insects that have seem to have mistaken the crown of his head for home.

Rocket pulls on the vines once more, but it is too late as the firm hands of the first security guard grab him by the scruff of the neck. This excess of motion causes Groot to tumble out of his high perch, falling down towards the ground below, but thankfully the second security guard is alert and catches him in his arms.

The security guard sets Rocket down and turns him around to face him. "We've been getting reports all over the park tonight about people's things mysteriously vanishing. So, you're the ones who have been stealing things all night?"

"Look" begins Rocket, "on most nights I'd say 'you're right officer, take me away' but we've been giving everything back!"

"Oh sure" he laughs, "because petty thieves like yourselves are known for their altruism." Turning to Groot he demands, "what about you, anything to say for yourself?"

He, with his chin held high, declares "I **am** Groot!"

"Get that down on the record Glen" the first officer says to the second, "perpetrator goes by the name of Groot."

"Got it Mark" he says, jotting down a few words in a small notepad.

"So" Mark says, staring down at Rocket, "are you going to come with us quietly, or are we going to have some more trouble tonight?"

His first thought is of trouble, after all, beating up and escaping from these two park cops would be probably be the easiest thing he's ever done. His eyes drift over to Groot, who is still staring defiantly up at the two men, and tenses up his muscles to grab him. But then, remembering the Xandarian woman behind him, he turns to see her staring in amazement at the inside of her purse, tears of relief in her eyes. Sighing heavily, he thinks to himself "alright Sindar one more thing for you, not in front of her" as he raises his hands in surrender.

"Alright guys, I give up, but I want it in your report that I gave up willingly! I've never been captured against my will by some Park cops and I don't intend on doing it now."

"Whatever you want boss" says Mark as he slaps some form fitting handcuffs on Rocket's paws, Glen doing the same to Groot's tiny hands.

As they are led away, the Xandarian woman still at a loss for words, watches them go until they are out of sight. Frozen in that position, it is some time before she returns once more to the contents of her purse. But now, as she pulls out the letters, she holds them in her now steady hands.

And with a hard toss, she scatters them across the surface of the lake before her.

* * *

 ** _Present Day_**

The raised voices, even muffled as they are through his cabin walls, reach his ears clearly as they always do. The four of them had only gotten back from Perpetuation Station a few minutes ago and already Gamora and Peter were arguing. Drax and Mantis had gone off to different parts of the ship, she having to stay behind with Groot while they were gone. As for Rocket, he had made a direct line from the airlock to his cabin. He could only stand so much bickering in one day when it wasn't his own.

Everyone called his room a mess, Peter had even called it a 'rat-hole' before Rocket had reminded him about his poor choice of words. But to Rocket, the stacks of parts and loose bits filling the space made perfect sense. Everything had it's place, whatever he needed was right there and he always needed something.

So it was to his surprise when he had come across something he had forgotten about. Searching for extended barrel, a new rifle he was constructing needed one, he had come across a piece of brown stationary buried under a pile of gun parts. It is rumpled and slightly oil-stained, but once he had seen it the words on it had all come flooding back.

And now, sitting on top a stack of engine parts, his eyes make a slow procession across it's surface.

 _To Groot,_

 _He as tall as me now. Your kid._

 _Got a real anger problem to him but hey so do I and I'm the best._ _I just felt like you should know that._ _Not that he's angry but that he's doing well._

 _Peter found his father, real messed up guy called Ego. You would have hated him. Don't worry though we killed him. He was trying to take over the universe, that sort of thing._

 _And no, I haven't found where I came from yet. I know that was something you wanted me to find out but it hasn't happened, not yet anyway. Galaxy is too big and I've got to watch over these idiots._

 _Oh, and Mantis, you never met her. She can read emotions or something like that. She's alright, kinda quiet but compentent. I'll take that any day over loud and stupid like Quill._

 _That's about it. Things feel a lot more empty without you. But you had to be a hero and save everyone on Xandar, you always were a showoff Groot._

 _Sometimes I, it's the little things you know, things that trigger memories. Most of the time it's fine. It's always fine. Never mind._

 _I'll probably throw away this letter, it means-_

-Rocket's reading is suddenly interrupted by an unnoticed voice.

"I _am_ Groot?"

Looking up to see Groot standing in the frame of his now open door, Rocket's usually agile mind has to work for several moments to break free of the powerful memories it had been occupied with and interpret his words.

Finally he says "in a minute Groot, why don't you set up the game first?"

Groot nods in understanding then, noticing the sheet of paper in his hand, gestures towards it as he asks "I _am_ Groot?"

Rocket eyes linger on the paper before him as he contemplates his answer. "I'll... tell you when you're older" he says, eyes rising from the page. "Some things ain't meant for the young."

"I _am_ Groot?"

"Yeah, so what if I got secrets" answers Rocket. "All cool people have secrets."

Groot shrugs his shoulders in seeming acceptance and begins to turn away but then, over his shoulder, he asks "I _**am**_ Groot?"

"WHAT" splutters Rocket, "no it's not - how do you even know what that is!? You shouldn't - you are WAY too young to know what that is. Did Quill show you one, I'll KILL HIM if he did!"

"I am Groot" is the only thing he says as he steps out into the common room and out of view.

"You're too young to have secrets!" bellows Rocket after him. But when no answer comes, he turns to the paper still in his paw. Pulling open a small drawer on the bottom of the table he had discovered the paper on, he places it inside. Alongside several dozen other pages.

Closing the drawer he straightens up and heads for his still open door as the sounds of Quill's music play anew from the common room speakers.


	4. The Tales of Paradise Park - Part Two

Chapter Four: The Tales of Paradise Park – Part Two

 **Section Three: A Worthy Challenge**

 ** _Eleven Months Ago_**

A small rodent like creature, its two offset eyes staring blankly at its surroundings, pops out of its hole with a flash of light and a burst color. Almost instantaneously, a hammer comes down upon its head.

*Doink*

The metal animal retreats back inside of its hole, just in time for another of its fellow comrades to meet the same fate. A hard swift strike with a plastic hammer.

"The sign out front promised games of skill" mutters Drax, setting the hammer down and concluding his relentless methodical massacre. As the large game cabinet he had been interacting with lights up with his new high score, the seventh consecutive one that night, a small voice speaks up off to his left.

"WOW, that was amazing!"

Drax turns to see a young Krylorian boy, his pink face all alight in wonder, staring up at him. Gesturing towards the machine Drax says "this is nothing but an empty game with no honor." Pointing to a large tattoo just above his right bicep he comments "I earned this by killing and harvesting the internal organs of the sacred Rathgarnian Woodland Glark when I was but a little older than yourself."

"COOOOL" squeals the child, hopping up and down in excitement.

"You should focus your energies on something more meaningful that the pitiful tests of skill here" asserts Drax. "For instance, when I was training my daughter Kamaria to hunt her first-"

"-Pejorta it's time to go, daddy's got to look for his wallet somewhere else" breaks in a voice from somewhere further off. The child turns towards the sound of the voice, then back to Drax, seemingly torn between the two. Drax smiles slightly and, with a gentle wave of his hand, says "go child. Your father is calling for you."

After quickly waving goodbye, the small Krylorian takes off in the direction of his father's voice. Drax watches him go until he disappears out of view into the crowd of people milling about.

As he slowly turns away from where the child has gone, Drax's eyes scan the surrounding machines, but none of them seem up to the task of a serious challenge. So instead, he decides to seek out the companion he had entered here with.

It does not take long before he finds her.

Hands operating the controls of a large cabinet game, Mantis's eyes follow the descending claw inside as it slides its metal arms around a plush toy. But as it once again falls out of the claw's grip, she lets out several angry curse words and slaps the side of the machine.

"Where did you learn that vile phrase?" questions Drax as he speaks up from behind her, previously unseen.

Spinning around in surprise, Mantis mouth opens to answer, but Drax's hard stare keeps the lie unsaid. Finally, her eyes lowering to the ground in shame, she admits "Groot taught me it."

"That irksome sapling does have quite the vulgar vocabulary" mutters Drax disapprovingly.

"Don't tell him I told you" pleads Mantis hurriedly, large black eyes rising from the floor to meet his again. "He made me promise not to tell anyone he told me it!"

"Then you have already broken your word" points out Drax as he steps forward to examine the strange clawed contraption. "What is the point of this machine, capturing things that do not move?"

"I suppose" answers Mantis, "although I have yet to succeed."

"This is a pointless test" huffs Drax, turning away from it, "and this establishment no longer deserves our attention. Let us go elsewhere."

"Oh, okay" says Mantis as she follows Drax down the colorful and busy aisles, stepping outside with him into the bright lights of an illuminated night. All around them are stalls of differing games, each of them displaying vibrant signs with offers of prizes.

"I do not understand why Peter Quill took us to this stupid place" says Drax as he looks around at the various booths, "there is nothing honorable in a test of skill that is bought and sold."

"I think... it reminds him of his home" observes Mantis, her large black eyes reflecting the many-colored lights as she speaks.

"It does not remind me of my home. On my world we did not play simple games for rewards of cloth or," he gestures towards a sign advertising prizes of a strange gelatinous substance called _Your Self-Forming Friend_ , "whatever that may be."

"Perhaps you have just not found the right challenge" says Mantis, following after Drax as the both of them start walking down a long line of stalls.

Looking with disdain at a game featuring child-sized pistols filled with a blue liquid he comments "I do not think I will find it here."

"What about this one?" asks Mantis, pointing towards a booth where two children spar back and forth with plastic scimitars.

"That is better" he answers, "but their form is terrible, and a blade like that is an impractical weapon."

"I think it looks like fun" murmurs Mantis as they nevertheless continue on past it.

"By the way Mantis" he adds, turning towards her as they continue to walk on, "it will soon be time to consider your training."

"Oh" says Mantis in surprise, "but you said I am already too skinny."

"That is true, you are freakishly small, but I am referring to your skills with a weapon."

"I have no skills with a weapon."

"That is precisely what we have to consider. And since the murderer Ego was entirely bereft in your training, we will have to start at the beginning."

"But Drax I... do not like to hurt."

"It does not have to be enjoyable when it is necessary."

"What if, it is not necessary?"

"Perhaps there will be times where peace is possible, but" stopping suddenly and grabbing her shoulders he adds, "there will be far more times when it is not. You must learn to fight, it is the only way to ensure your survival."

"Drax?" asks Mantis, as his gaze suddenly turns inward.

"I will not let it happen again" he mutters to himself.

"Drax what is-" she begins to ask before something over his left shoulder attracts all of her attention. She slips out of his grasp and walks over to it.

"Never again" he whispers, before shaking himself free of the memories that had been consuming him. "Besides" he adds in a much more positive tone, continuing to walk down the long line of stalls, "you have yet to see most of the techniques! The Badoon throat strike is a personal favorite and, oh yes, the Luphomoid heart punch is a sight to behold! The blood splatter is quite majestic, you must learn-"

-as he turns towards where she should be, he notices for the first time that she is not walking beside him.

Spinning around, his eyes search through the dense crowd before he finally spots her several stalls back. She is kneeling down in front of a booth's waist high glass facade, staring intently at its interior. As he walks back towards her he calls out her name, but she doesn't break her gaze or acknowledge his voice. Stepping up to her side, he immediatly sees what has been attracting her attention.

Stacked three wide, two high, and all attached together with luminous strips of metal, six glass tanks housing several dozen fish stand. Spanning the spectrum of colors and sizes, the small creatures inside meander about with little purpose, making lazy circles or other abstract shapes in their processions around the enclosed spaces. There are several of them to each tank, all except for the top middle, where only a singular fish, its body green and fins black, swims around. It is this tank that Mantis has her hands pressed up against, and it is this solitary creature that she watches with fascinated interest.

Looking in confusion between her and the subject of her gaze Drax comments "that creature is so small and tiny, why are you interested in it?"

Mantis begins to trace her finger back and forth across the glass as she murmurs "it's so beautiful." Then, as the fish starts following the path of her finger, she squeals "and I think it can see me!"

Lowering her hands back down to her side she adds "but it looks lonely in there, with no friends. I wonder," turning towards him she asks "Drax, do you think it's ever been out of that tank?"

"Unlikely" he answers, "a creature like that would not survive long outside of its natural habitat." As Mantis sadly returns her gaze to the tank he continues "besides, that creature looks quite young. I doubt it understands much." But as Mantis's and the small creature's eyes meet for a moment, large black orbs staring into translucent white, she smiles and says "I think it knows more than you know."

"I see I have a discerning customer" speaks up a voice from inside the booth. An older Rajak man steps forward, grinning happily, as he shifts his gaze from Mantis to Drax. "And I see I also have a worthy challenger."

"You are right of course" declares Drax, "but for what challenge?"

"Why none other than what you see before you" says the man, gesturing behind himself. There, five hoops rising out of a large mechanized base sit. Made out of a clear plastic like material, they decrease in size the father back into the booth they go, until the last stretches no wider than a man's wrist.

"Throw this" he says, holding up a small metallic ball an inch wide, "through those hoops and any fish you want is yours."

"Drax I can do it" exclaims Mantis, standing up from her position in front of the glass tanks.

"That will not be necessary" says Drax as he calmly takes the metal ball from the shopkeepers hand, "I have already bested many of these paltry challenges tonight. This one will be no different."

"Oh, okay" says Mantis a bit dejectedly as she nevertheless steps aside to let him take up a centered position.

As Drax readies his arm for the throw he asks "what is the price of this game?"

"Why nothing but a meager five units" answers the proprietor, holding out a hand for his ID badge, which Drax removes from his pants pocket and gives to him. "Also" he adds after sliding the badge through a small receptacle beneath the counter, "the rings move." Flicking a switch next to him, the five separate hoops light up in different colors and begin to sway back and forth in different time with each other. "I hope that won't be a problem?"

Drax laughs, saying "I have bested better than this" as his eyes survey the five see-sawing hoops. "It will be no problem."

"Great, then whenever you're ready."

Drax rears back and prepares to throw before a sudden light, emanating from the metal ball in his hand, stops him short. Out of a small slit at its top, a holographic message appears in a bold-faced translucent font. " **You Can Do This** " it reads.

"Thank you metal sphere" says Drax as the light and text winks out, "but I require no encouragement." Finally, with only a pause to judge the distance with his naked eyes, he lets the ball fly. It sails through the first three hoops in a graceful arc.

Only to bounce out on the forth.

Brows furrowed in confusion, Drax stares at the ball as it comes to a rest upon the bare ground.

"Oh dear, bad luck my friend" says the Rajak shopkeeper as he bends down to remove another metal ball from a box full of them. "Perhaps with another throw you'll have more luck?"

"I do not require luck, that was just a simple misjudgment of distance" explains Drax, taking the ball from the shopkeeper as the man also slides his ID badge a second time. Rearing back, the ball again interrupts him with a holographic message.

" **It's All About The Angle**."

Thank you again metal sphere" says Drax as the text once more disappears, "but as I stated I do not require your motivation." He throws the ball, and it passes through the first three holes.

Before bouncing out on the forth.

The ball comes to rest on the ground; Drax follows it with his eyes.

Holding another ball out in his hand, the shopkeeper says "the third throw is always the luckiest."

"Luck is foolish" huffs Drax as he nevertheless takes the ball from him, "I just need to launch it faster is all."

"Drax, I think I know how to win" says Mantis from her position off to his left as the shopkeeper once again swipes his badge. "There's a pattern, a point when the five of them line up."

" **Up Up And Away**."

Ignoring the latest message, Drax has his arm cocked at the ready as he stares at the five swaying hoops for several seconds. "I do not see what you have described."

"You just have to-"

-Drax releases his throw-

"-have patience."

The ball once more bounces out on the forth hoop.

Before the Rajak man can say a word, Drax reaches down and pulls a new ball out of the box. "I will succeed at this" he declares in a loud voice, "as I do at all things!"

Another swipe of his ID badge.

Another message: " **Think Positive Thoughts."**

And another missed throw.

Another swipe.

Message: " **I Believe In Us."**

Another miss.

Swipe.

" **You're The Best."**

Miss.

Swipe, message, miss.

He reaches down to pull another ball from the box, but the owner pulls it away from him before he can do so.

"What is the meaning of this" questions Drax fiercely, "I am just a shot away from making it!"

"I believe you friend, but your badge is out of money."

Drax bellows "that is impossible, there were over three hundred units on it!"

"There were, but you used them all" he says, gesturing towards the ground around the still moving hoops. Drax stares in surprise at the five dozen metal balls littering the ground. They nealy cover the entire space.

"I… did not realize I had thrown that many."

"Yep, you've been here almost half-an-hour" comments the shopkeeper as he holds Drax's ID badge back out to him, "it's the longest I've ever seen anyone keep at it."

While he's talking, Drax notices Mantis sitting with her back up against the glass facade. Her head is rested in-between her folded arms, the soft sounds of snoring a clear sign that she is asleep.

After receiving in his hand the now empty ID badge, Drax asks "you who have taken all my money, how much for one of those?" He points towards several empty tanks along the backside of the booth. They are much smaller then the ones up front and bowl shaped.

The shopkeeper begins to say "what, the carry home's? Friend I'd be happy to sell you one but you don't have", before he pauses with a thoughtful expression. "Ah hell" he finally mutters with a heavy sigh, "you spent more money here than anyone I've ever seen. More than I make in an entire night even." Picking up the closest of the tanks with his wrinkled and tanned hands, he examines its surface quickly for any cracks or imperfections before setting it on the glass counter-top before him. "Here friend, take it" he says, "you deserve at least a little something for your troubles tonight."

Pocketing his badge, Drax receives the empty vessel in outstretched hands. As his arms draw it in closer his eyes catch his face's reflection in the concave glass of the tank's interior. It is inverted and upside down.

Drax shifts the tank to hold it under his right shoulder.

"Well, I reckon you'll want a fish to go with that empty bowl" says the shopkeeper as he kneels down in front of the top middle tank with the solitary green and black inhabitant. "I believe your young friend had her eye on this one."

"That won't be necessary" interjects Drax, "I still intend to conquer a worthy challenge tonight. Just not here."

"Oh, okay then" says the shopkeeper, slowly rising back up. "If that's what you want."

"It is" says Drax as he leans over and taps Mantis on the shoulder. She awakens with a start, large black eyes blinking rapidly as her head swivels back and forth to take in her surroundings. "Come Mantis, we are going to a place with a worthy challenge" says Drax to her as she straightens back up, wobbling slightly on still half-asleep legs.

"Okay" she mumbles before finally shaking the last bit of sleep out of her mind. Before she can say or ask anything else however, Drax begins walking off with the empty vessel tucked under one arm.

She begins to follow after him, but then stops after a step. Turning back towards the glass facade of the booth she waves with several small gestures towards the lone occupant of the top middle tank. It makes a slow loop in its enclosure.

She slowly lowers her hand.

"You were right you know" says the Rajak shopkeeper, drawing her attention up towards his old weathered face. "There is a moment when the five hoops line up, it just requires the patience to see it.

Mantis nods slowly, then repeats the same gesture to him.

His face breaks out into a wide smile as he waves back, and then, he watches her go as she hurries after her companion.

~oOo~

The still waters of Bathgu lake fill his vision as Drax steps up to the iron guardrail surrounding its shore. Mantis, following closely behind, comes to a stop beside him. She too takes in the large reflective waters for a moment.

"Here is where I will find a worthy challenge" breaths Drax as he steps up to the guardrail. In one motion, with the tank still tucked under his right arm, he uses his free left hand to vault over its modest height, landing softly on the other side.

"Peter said this water has dangerous creatures" says Mantis as she eyes the lake's placid surface with suspicion.

Drax says "then any violent being has plenty of reasons to keep their filthy hide out of view" as he holds out his hand for her's. "Because I am here."

Mantis takes his hand in her's and he lifts her over the barrier in a quick motion, setting her down gently on his side.

"Now, onto the challenge" says Drax as he walks down the gentle shore towards the lake's surface.

What are we doing here?" asks Mantis as she follows after him once again.

"Winning a fish at that paltry game was simple" says Drax as he takes several steps into the lake's cold water. "Here is where the true challenge is."

Stepping into the lake until the water comes up to his waist, Drax releases the empty tank into the lake. It floats lazily by his side.

Several fish swimming back and forth around his legs begin to dart around, startled by his sudden presence as Drax starts striking out with his hands. Making great splashes he declares "soon I will have the prize." But they elude his grasp, always staying just out of reach.

"These beings will not stay still" roars Drax as he follows after them, "they have no sense of honor." Soon, as the water raises up to his neck, he backs off, letting them escape out to deeper waters.

"Drax" she says, observing from the shore, "I do not think you will capture anything like that."

"Nonsense" he says, wading back into waters that only reach up to his waist. "They will soon be overcome with quick and decisive action."

"I think these may require a different approach" says Mantis as she steps into the water, walking forward until it rises to her waist.

"There is no other approach" states Drax as he takes the floating tank into his hands.

"Perhaps there is another way, one without splashing or pain."

Sitting down in the shallow waters so as they rise up to her neck, she opens up her arms, gesturing for the tank in Drax's hands. Pausing for a moment in confusion and perhaps a little trepidation, he nevertheless pushes it towards her.

It sails across on the jostling current between them before settling into her open arms.

As she sits in the water with eyes closed, Drax stares at her still form for some time. Her arms, buffeted gently back and forth in the slow motions of the water, hang loosely just under the water's surface as her jet-black hair spreads out behind her in a shallow halo.

Drax looks at the water in front of him, still devoid of fish, then back up to her before saying, slowly, "I don't understand. How is sitting in one place going to succeed if these cowardly creatures will not approach?"

"The creatures are not cowardly" says Mantis, opening back up her eyes. "They are just not fighters, and they only ran away when you started splashing about to grab them."

"Precisely, they fled when I challenged them because they are cowards!"

Mantis closes her eyes once again and leaves the both of them in silence. Drax continues staring at the empty water around then, when suddenly a lone fish swims into view. He turns his body towards it in preparation for a strike, but even this little movement causes the creature to dart away.

Drax exclaims "do you see, they still refuse to approach!"

Mantis, with her eyes still closed, asks quietly "have you ever not fought? Have you ever run away?"

"Absolutely not" he declares forcibly, incidentally slapping at the water as he brings his hand down in emphasis.

Mantis opens her eyes again. "Then have you ever lost?"

Drax begins to answer, but then stops short. His eyes lower to the rippling surface of the lake, the result of his latest splash, before he says "I have... lost. I lost when Ronan slaughtered my family. I lost when I foolishly challenged him again, alone, without patience." The waters settle before him and he sees clearly for the first time his reflection in them. It is upright and clear. "I have lost many times. I even lost at that game tonight."

"Then maybe there is another way to win" says Mantis as she pushes the fishbowl down into the lake, filling it nearly to the brim with water. She too, looking down, sees her face reflected back in the soft blue light of her now illuminated antennae.

Not speaking, Drax instead in answer sits softly down onto the mud of the lake bed, the water rising up to his neck.

The both of them sit in silence. Drax, copying Mantis, lets his arms relax to float at his sides. From far away the echoing sounds of the park can still be heard, but here, the soft sounds of water lapping at the nearby shore overwhelm them.

After several minutes, the first fish returns to the shallower waters. It circles between the two of them, as if examining these new silent visitors, but it doesn't flee. Soon, they all start to come back, nearly a dozen of them. Drax watches in quiet amazement as they swim all around him, even brushing up against him from time to time. But still, they do not flee.

Finally, without a word, Mantis lowers the fishbowl fully into the water, holding it down just above the lake's muddy floor. Drax's eyes, which had been watching her, suddenly swivel over to deeper waters, a strange light drawing his attention. Approaching slowly, a brightly luminous fish swims up towards Mantis. Radiating a soft blue light to match her antennae, it stops just before her. For several moments it just floats there, before swimming forward and resting just above the submerged tank. Mantis raises the tank up and out of the water, but the unusual fish doesn't move. Instead, it lets itself become captured inside of the glass enclosure. Mantis holds the tank up closer to her face as the light of the fish, and her antennae, both extinguish.

"How did you do that?" asks Drax after a wordless moment, staring in amazement.

"I don't know" answer Mantis, studying the new occupant with her large black eyes. "There were many times when Ego did not require me and I had nothing to do but walk and think. Sometimes, I would go out to the lakes and sit in the water just like this. It was... something. So, I thought it might work tonight, with only a little patience."

"Indeed" chuckles Drax, "this **was** a worthy challenge."

Mantis breaths in sharply before exclaiming "Drax look! This is the same kind of fish that was in the tank earlier!"

Leaning forward to get a better look Drax indeed sees the same kind of fish, green body and black fins, that he had tried to win earlier.

Mantis chatters excitedly "I wonder what that could mean."

"Probably only that the Rajak man steals his fish out of this lake" comments Drax. Seeing her expression still filled with wonder he quickly adds "although that means little. It is still very special."

Suddenly, from up on the bank of the lake, a piercingly bright light shines out, causing all of the fish still around them to scatter. "What the hell is going on here" comes a voice from behind the light, "a couple of loonies trying to get their kicks by swimming after dark?"

"Seems like that to me Mark" comes another voice also obscured by the light, "and poaching fish by the looks of it."

Drax, standing upright from the water, declares "show yourselves accusing voices. I will not be spoken to by anonymous people."

The light lowers, revealing two park cops standing on the other side of the guardrail surrounding the lake.

* * *

 ** _Present Day_**

Peter and Gamora face each other, separated only by the large table in the middle of the common room. As Mantis tries to make her body as small as possible along the wall next to her room she thinks to herself "it is good that the table is between them. Otherwise, they'd be at each others throats."

"This is a stupid waste of time" bellows Peter as he gestures angrily at the small jeweled box they had just received from the Ludberdites. "We're going all the way across the galaxy just to deliver this useless relic to Ortus. A planet, by the way, that I'd barely heard of before a few days ago."

Arms crossed dangerously across her chest and eyes hard as steel, Gamora retorts "we need the money to pay for your surgery. And you were way out of line when we met with them earlier."

"I only called 'em fish freaks-"

"-which is an insult about their appearance-"

"-I could have called 'em much worse!"

Gamora throws her hands up in frustration as she exclaims "what the hell is wrong with you Peter!"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe it's the hole in my leg" he snarls. "Or maybe" he adds, pointing an accusing finger at her, "it's that you still won't even listen to what I have to say!"

Gamora shoots back "when have you **ever** had an idea worth listening to?"

"Plenty of times" argues Peter, before saying "you know what, I don't need this!" Turning his back on them and hobbling away, he adds over his shoulder "you have fun with your stupid little box, I'll be in my cabin if anyone needs me."

"I doubt anyone will" mutters Gamora as he disappears into his room, the door shutting with a soft thunk behind him. As she turns to go back into her own cabin, her eyes meet Mantis's. They look at each other for a moment.

"He is in pain" says Mantis quietly.

"Oh, I know" seethes Gamora, "I hear about it every time we talk."

"No, deeper than that. His soul... hurts."

Gamora's features soften for a moment as her eyes flash over to the closed door of his cabin. Looking back to Mantis she begins to ask a question, but then her eyes move forward to her door. After pressing the open button, she starts to step through, but then stops short. Glancing towards Mantis but not at her she asks "I'm right, aren't I?"

"I don't know" says Mantis slowly, eyes lowering towards the floor. "But right now, I don't think rights or wrongs much matter."

Gamora doesn't move for a moment, her mouth opens to speak, but it closes soon after without a word.

She steps into her room.

The door closes behind her.

Mantis stands in the common room, alone, everyone else's door is closed. Stepping into her own room, she purposely leaves the door open behind her.

Inside it is a mostly empty space. A simple cot bolted firmly to the wall in one corner. A desk, once Peter's but still far too tall for her, sits across from it. Her second favorite thing on one wall, a large bookshelf containing physical texts which are a rarity out in space. The first time she had seen one of those marvelous manuscripts she had fallen in love with the physical texture of the individual pages. It had taken many hard months to learn, but Gamora had been very helpful in her teaching, Ego having taught her nothing about reading in her time as his servant.

But turning to her left to something that takes up nearly the entire wall across from her bed, she steps up to her single favorite thing. A large aquarium tank, somehow acquired for very cheap by Rocket on a stopover at Knowhere, is filled with water and fake sea rocks and coral. It's single occupant, green bodied with black fins, swims up to the glass to meet her. As it always does.

"Hello friend" says Mantis as she takes in her hand a small bottle containing little pellets of food, "I hope you've been having a better day than me." As she sprinkles the food into the partially open lid of the tank, the fish pulses out several blue flashes of light before sucking up the pellets slowly drifting down around it. Mantis, putting her hand up to the glass, lights up her antennae with a quick blue pulse in answer before lowering it back down to her side.

"I am glad the two of them have stopped fighting for a while" comes a voice from just inside her door frame, "it was becoming very grating on my senses."

Drax, stepping into her room, surveys its barren interior for a moment before turning to her. "We have told you before that it is alright to acquire more furnishings, why have you still not done this?"

"This is already too much" says Mantis. "Besides, I am not used to owning anything. This much already feels... unusual."

"Well, frugalness is a virtue" comments Drax as he once more looks over her meager possessions.

"Drax" asks Mantis in a worried tone, "do you ever think Peter and Gamora will stop fighting?"

"That is not for me to tell" says Drax, "their quarrel is between themselves."

"But, if we are family, is it not ours too?"

Drax does not have an immediate answer for that, so instead he walks over to her bookshelf and takes out one of the manuscripts inside, a large purple volume bound in a leather case.

"A HISTORY OF STAR-SHIP TRANSPORTATION SYSTEMS" reads Drax aloud from the cover of the book, "is not that dull?"

"It is actually quite interesting" says Mantis, "and Rocket said it was very basic, simple, for idiots, and perfect for me!"

"Perhaps so" agrees Drax as he places the text back into the long line of books. From across the common room, muffled as it is by the metal between them, they can still hear the sounds of several things hitting the walls of Peter's cabin. Probably thrown in anger.

"And perhaps you are right about that too" says Drax, gesturing towards the common room and Peter's space beyond. "If we are family, then it may be our business."

"Drax, I think Peter is-"

"-but I am actually here to talk with you about something else."

"Oh" chirps Mantis, "what is that?"

"Training."

"I thought we already did my session earlier in the week? I remember Rocket being very upset about it."

"Yes, but that one is always angry about something. I am actually referring to my own training."

"I am not sure about this Drax" says Mantis as she looks down at her gloved hands, wringing them together nervously. "I know you want me to train you but I don't think I have anything to teach you."

"I thought I told you not to lie to me" admonishes Drax, "you have something that I could never teach myself."

Mantis looks up from her hands and stares at him in surprise.

"Patience."

Mantis tries to explain "I do not _know_ patience," but Drax stops her short with a raised hand.

"Perhaps not, but I still think you can teach some of it. At least to me."

Mantis looks back down at her hands, but then her eyes catch a bright light over to her right. Her fish, pulsing out several bright blue flashes, does several small flips inside of its tank. After this, it stops and stares right at her.

"Okay" says Mantis, looking back up to Drax. "But it will take time-"

"-of course-

"-it probably won't be easy-"

"-that's to be expected-"

"-and it'll require patience."

"That, is something I hope to learn."

"Good" says Mantis, cheerful for the first time in a while. "Then let's go out to the common room, I'd rather train you there."

"Very well" says Drax, standing aside to let her pass by. As he starts to walk behind her, he glances over to the fish in the tank. It pulses once and does a small turn.

Drax pauses, raises his hand, waves once gently, and then follows after her.

* * *

 **Section Four: Peace And Innocence Are Dirty Words**

 ** _Eleven Months Ago_**

Peter dry heaves into a black plastic bag with large plastered on words on its side. He tries to raise his head to speak, but a fresh round of nausea sends him straight back, making all manner of horrible sounds.

"You should have followed your own advice" says Gamora, sitting across from him. The metallic table she had commandeered for them after Peter had come stumbling off the matter scrambler ride white as a sheet makes for an excellent work space as she goes over several star charts laid out before her.

"I did say HURREGH," he returns to the bag for a moment, "I did say that the matter scrambler has killed a few people."

"Then you should consider yourself lucky" says Gamora as she fills in a new line on her star chart.

"I don't feel lucky" mutters Peter as he finally manages to raise his head away from the bag.

"Well, everything's relative."

Peter takes several deep breaths to determine if he's really done emptying his stomach. When nothing comes up he lets out a long sigh of relief and rubs his sweaty brow with the back of his hand. "One good thing is these futuristic barf bags" comments Peter as he presses a small button just below the right handle. A thin clear lining on the inside of the bag begins to fold in on itself, compressing the contents within into a small ball at its bottom. Turning the bag upside down, the sealed ball plops down onto the table before him. Peter says, picking up the ball in his hand, "pretty cool stuff ain't it, out here in space there's always an answer for everything." Twisting around in his seat, he lobs the ball towards a trash receptacle twenty feet away.

It sails through the air in a long arc before finally plopping down into it with a soft thud.

'Oh yes, he SCORES" exclaims Peter, throwing his hands up in excitement. Turning back to Gamora he excitedly asks "did you see that?"

"I take it you succeeded in your throw" she says, head still down and looking at the map in front of her.

"What are kidding me!?" asks Peter incredulously, "it was like Magic Johnson from just inside the arc. Nothing but net!"

"I didn't know there were wizards on Terra?"

"What, no, Magic was just-"

"-why would they let him play a professional sport? That seems kind of unfair-"

"-no Gamora, magic was just his nickname. Because he was so _good_ it was like magic!"

Gamora finally looks up from her work to stare at Peter for a moment, before saying "some days I really feel for Drax. Even I can't keep up with your weird Terran lore sometimes."

"It was still a good shot though" says Peter dejectedly as Gamora returns her attention to the map before her.

After he watches her trace another line, this one from the bottom left to the top right, he asks "why did you even bring those stupid maps with you? I said before we left the Milano that this would be a night of fun, remember?"

"For me this is fun" answers Gamora, looking back up to him. At the disbelieving expression on his face she adds "I mean, it's fun making progress. And I knew we'd have down time tonight, so why not do something useful during it?"

"Staring at a map ain't useful" counters Peter but she refuses to respond, having once more returned to her work.

Everything is quiet for a few minutes, Gamora continuing to make markings on the stellar chart before her as Peter, feeling an ever-increasing amount of boredom, watches her slow progress with curiosity. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, he blurts out the question "what's so interesting on that thing anyway?"

Gamora doesn't look up as she responds "do you really want to know or are you just trying to pass the time with talk?"

Pondering the question, several different answers pass before his mind until he finally decides on the truth. "I'm _kinda_ interested."

"Then come over to my side of the table, it only makes sense if you look at it from this direction."

Standing up and walking around the table, Peter stuffs the now empty barf bag into his pocket as he slides in next to her. As she sets her drawing utensil down and leans back to rub the tension out of her neck, Peter examines her carefully detailed map. The complex and overlaid star charts he can only partly read, book learning wasn't highly encouraged on Yondu's ship, but he recognizes enough of the named stars to place it as the quadrant of space they'd been scouring through for the past few weeks. Nearly a dozen meandering lines, made up of the connections between a multitude of dots, all point towards an area of space in the upper right corner of the map. But none of them seem terminate anywhere, leaving an empty space at their center nearly a dozen light years in area.

"Somewhere in there" explains Gamora, pointing to the empty space, "is a staging base for Thanos's troops." Tracing one of the lines with a finger she continues, saying "as you know we've been tailing his ships as they return to base for a while now." Her finger moves to another line, this one the straightest and most direct. "This represents the path of the ship we managed to turn back before it was able to attack that Xandarian colony on Krazni," her finger stops on the last dot of its path, "but we lost it in that nebula." Tapping at several areas of space around the empty spot on the map she mutters "four nebulae, all around the same area, and we've lost every ship we've trailed in them."

"Ain't no krutacking way that's an accident" comments Peter, "they must have known how difficult it would be to follow ships through there when they built the station."

"That's my assumption too" says Gamora as her finger continues to trace the area of space in question. "If the dam Nebulae would just make it easy I could-" her finger stops its procession, hovering over a binary star system. Perplexed by her sudden silence, Peter leans in to read the name of the system she has paused over. "The Detached Sisters" the name reads, and Peter suddenly notices that Gamora's hand is shaking slightly as her eyes remained fixed on the binary stars.

Peter gently places his hand on top of hers and pulls it away; her eyes flash over to his in surprise but then sink to the tabletop. Peter rubs her hand with his thumb in a back and forth motion as he asks "since the last time I asked, have you heard anything?"

Her voice is small as she whispers a mournful "no" before clearing her throat and speaking normally. "No, no word from her. Not in the nine months since the funeral."

"She's alive" says Peter as his thumb continues its slow movements, "I know she's alive."

Gamora breaths in deeply, then lets out a slow sigh as she says "hope is for those who do not know the future. If Thanos were to die we'd know about it. But her? She might just disappear, swallowed by the weight of events and I'd never know of it. What scares me the most is that she might die and I may never know where, or how, or… why."

Peter says in a calming tone, "you don't know the future, only Marty McFly knows and he's on earth not out here." He continues rubbing her hand with his thumb as he says "and we've got hope. More than most. She's alive, and you'll see her again."

Gamora grabs the hand that had been rubbing hers in a full grasp and squeezes it tight. "I never told you this Peter" she says after several seconds, "but I seriously considered following after Nebula when she left during Yondu's funeral." Swiveling her head, her eyes look into his as she asks "would you have hated me for that?"

Peter's answer is instantaneous as his thumb returns to rubbing her hand in a gentle back and forth motion. "No; I would have been angry, it would have hurt, but no, I could never hate you. Eventually, I would have understood."

Hands locked together, shoulder to shoulder, they stay there in quiet companionship for a long while.

* * *

 ** _Present Day_**

Peter paces back and forth in the oppressive dark of his cabin on the Milano. His steps are short and labored, his right leg dragging behind his left, but he can't stand still.

Too many angry thoughts clutter his mind.

"She doesn't understand what I'm trying to do, how could she understand? For two years all its been in hunting Thanos, killing Thanos. Thanos, Thanos, THANOS!"

Her dismissive tone, the way she held in contempt what he was trying to do. His fists ball up in anger as his mind reaches a furious climax. "She doesn't care about you, about anything but what SHE wants!"

His hands lash out at the nearest thing to him, his closet, and he begins pulling his clothes off their hangers and hurling them about the cabin. One after another he throws them at the furthest wall; pants, shirts, jackets, they all crumple into a heap. Finally reaching the last item, a pair of old cloth jeans, he rips them off their hanger and propels them with all his might against the wall. However, the force of his throw upsets his already unsteady balance, and as a result he topples over onto the floor in a sprawling heap.

Lying there, breathing heavily with his injured leg throbbing freshly in pain, a plastic bag that had been in the pocket of the pair of jeans floats down and settles upon his face, filling his vision. Removing it from his face he can just barely make out the words inscribed on the crinkled bag.

JAFFA PLANETARY PARADISE PARK: COME FOR THE MEMORIES, STAY FOR THE LIQUIFIED ARMATKA SLURRY.

Sitting up slowly from the floor, his right leg a constant presence, he says to the empty room "I must not have worn them since that night." Pulling himself off the floor and onto the bed for greater comfort, the little black book he had discarded there earlier in the day digs into his butt. Shuffling off to the side he pulls it out from under him. It is open to the last entry, and even though he can barely see the picture in the dim light, he knows what is there.

 **Awesome Mix Vol. 3:** Jim Croce - Photographs and Memories

Words spoken that night so long ago come back to him and he can almost feel the warm presence of her head on his shoulder as his mind unconsciously recites "I could never hate you. Eventually, I would have understood."

A great sadness, dulling out the pain from his leg, washes over him as he sits in the still darkness of his cabin. For several minutes he stays there, frozen in silence, old memories like a monochrome dream pass before his eyes as he rubs his thumb up and down the picture he can barely see.

Finally managing to pull his hand away, he closes the small black book and stands up slowly on unsure legs. Moving over to a shelf near the door, he places the book back where he had taken it from earlier in the day and removes his Zune from the charging dock nearby. Shuffling over to the door, he presses the open button twice as he reaches it.

Hesitating for a moment, the warm light of the common room silhouettes him in the frame. Looking back into the dark recesses of his cabin, he states at it before turning away from it fully. Then, he steps through to what is beyond.

The door closes with a soft thunk behind him.

* * *

 ** _Eleven Months Ago_**

Bathgu lake shines in the light of three low hanging moons as Peter and Gamora stand at the water's edge, both of them leaning against a chest high guardrail. Peter breaths in the cool air deeply before saying "I lived near a lake like this on earth, mom used to take me there to swim when it got too hot to do anything else. The other kids would always try to splash water in my face, but I could usually hold my own if there were only a few of them." He turns away from the lake and pushes with his back against the railing. "This place always does reminds me of Earth, even though there are a few too many moons."

Gamora continues looking out over the expanse of water as she says "my home-world was famed for its natural beauty, but I don't remember much of it. Just a border of green at the edge of my dreams."

Peter looks around at the distant many-colored lights of the park as he asks, almost to himself, "couldn't we just stay here?" Raising his voice he adds "like, I know it sounds crazy, but most of galaxy is just empty space and baddies wanting you dead. This place is peaceful, almost an island." Twisting his body towards Gamora he asks "am I stupid for thinking that?"

Breaking out of her gaze over the open water, Gamora turns her head towards him and says "you're not stupid Peter. But the only reason this place is peaceful," she gestures with her hand to the stars above, "is because the _baddies_ are kept out there." Lowering it back down to her side she adds, "and we're some of the people that have to keep them there."

"Yeah, you're probably right" agrees Peter, rubbing the knuckles of his right hand against his face. "But where does it end? Even if we kill Thanos, then what? The galaxy seems to have a never-ending supply of asshole murders and we've only managed to kill two of them so far. Do we keep fighting until we're too old to hold a pistol... or something worse happens?"

Gamora sighs as she lowers her head in quiet contemplation, the lapping of the water on the shore beneath them the only sound for quite some time. Finally, she raises her eyes to Peter and says "hope is for those who do not know the future. And according to you only Marty McFly knows the future, so, I have hope for it."

Just then a bouncing ball, emanating from some distance away, comes into view in front of Peter. With one final bounce it threatens to hop over the guardrail and into the lake, but Peter reaches out and catches it before it can do so. A small boy with a bright yellow face, his four arms outstretched, runs over to Peter and gestures for the ball in his hands. Peter tosses it back to him, saying as he does "you've got to be more careful little dude, if it goes into the lake there's no getting it back." He nods in affirmation and then looks over to Gamora who smiles and waves her hand in greeting. Turning away, the child runs back to the ball court some distance away, disappearing into the shadows outside of the streetlamps.

Gamora looks in surprise at the hand she had waved with and lowers it back down to her side, saying after a few moments of reflection "do you think that could have been us someday in the past, if things had been different?"

Peter scoffs "I don't think I ever could have had four arms."

"No, I mean like that. Carefree. The biggest worry in the world whether you can get your ball back."

Peter shrugs his shoulders as he says "I dunno. If we had lived like that we wouldn't be us, we'd just be normal people. There are… a lot things about that I'd like. But I never would have met everyone I know; I never would have met you." His words falter as his eyes look into hers, "and, I wouldn't want that, not for" his words halt again as he searches for what to say. "Anything" his mind finally decides upon. "I wouldn't want that for _anything_."

"I don't think you really mean that" says Gamora, trying to contain her surprise.

Peter looks at the ground and scuffs his shoe against the hard concrete as he says "maybe not, but some part of me does." Looking back up at the dim lights of the park he adds "its probably the part of me that knows that this place ain't real. That it's just lights and colors and funny smells."

"I thought you loved this place Peter?"

"Oh, I do" he answers, "some of my favorite memories are here. But you're right about one thing, that out there" he says, turning away from the artificial lights and gesturing towards the dim stars above, "that is what's real. This place is Paradise, but it's just temporary. One Ronan or one Ego and" he snaps his fingers, "it's all over just like that. Because... what is real here are the people, our friends... and" turning back towards her he concludes, "you."

Gamora, who had been watching and listening to Peter speak, now steps towards him and takes his hands in hers. "You're real too" she says, "and if part of you does want to stay in this stinky place, that just means you're the man I know."

The two of them, hands interlocked for the second time tonight, stare into each other's eyes.

"You know" says Peter offhandedly, "in a movie this would be the scene where the two good-looking leads kiss."

"Is that what this is?" asks Gamora.

"I'm pretty sure" begins Peter, before a chorus of shouts and a loud scream interrupt him. Turning their heads away from each other and towards the noise, they see the small yellow-faced child tear out of a line of trees, chased closely behind by a half dozen boys much larger than him.

"Yep, now I'm confident that it was" says Peter as they both turn back towards each other, "because something more important always comes up to interrupt it."

"You want to stop that kid from getting beat up by those bullies?" asks Gamora, her face one of practiced determination.

Peter smile reaches from ear to ear as he proclaims "and that right there is the reason I like you."

~oOo~

His four arms clinging onto the ball in his many hands, the young boy spins around in an attempt to keep his eyes on his tormentors as they encircle him in a ring of leering faces. The leader of the group, dressed in baggy black clothes his ruby red face and hands stick out like a sore thumb, advances slowly towards him. Through sharp teeth inside a crooked mouth he hisses "we just want the ball kid. Give it up and we'll leave what's alone."

"Yeah" jeers another, his deep blue skin decorated with dark swirling tattoos. "We lost our's in the lake, all we're asking for is a simple trade."

"A trade" squeaks the small four-armed child, "what kind of trade?"

"The fair kind" cuts in another, "you give us the ball and we promise not to beat the crap out of you!"

As the group surrounding him breaks out into a loud chorus of raucous laughter, the kid shakes in fright as he nevertheless grips the ball even closer to his chest. The cackling finally calms down as the red-faced leader speaks up once again. "Alright, I don't got all night you little shit! My pops is going to be back in about an hour and if he finds out I lost his ball, he's-"

"-gonna beat his ass!" blurts out an overly excited member of the group.

"Dude shut your freaking mouth" shouts back the leader in a surprisingly shrill voice. Turning his attention back to the kid he adds, more more calmly, "because that ain't gonna happen tonight. So, what's it gonna be? The hard way or the" he pauses for a moment, "the really hard way?"

"How about the way where you piss off and leave the little man alone" breaks in a much louder voice from outside their circle. Peter Quill, arms resting on hips, has his chest puffed out as he surveys the six teenagers now turning their attentions upon him. Gamora stands by his side, and if not quite as showy as him, she still has her arms crossed upon her chest with eyes cold and hard.

Face screwed up in confusion, the leader calls out "who the hell are you all supposed to be?"

"My name, listen well because you won't soon forget it, is Pedo -NO IT'S NOT" yells out Peter, interrupting himself as Gamora buries her face in her hands in embarrassment. "It just slipped out" he whispers in explanation to her before raising his voice again and proclaiming "my name is Pedro. This is my girlfriend-" she elbows him in the side "-my companion, Gail. And we are the leaders of-"

"-Peter-" hisses Gamora under her breath.

"-The uh, Protectors, of the uh, Universe."

The six bullies all look to each other, equal expressions of bewilderment on their faces. Finally, the red-faced leader speaks up again, asking "The Protectors of The Universe huh, what is that like some kind of circus group?"

"NO" retorts Peter defensively, "it's a group of awesome people who travel around the galaxy, or um Universe, and keep it safe from some really bad people. And, just for your information, we've actually saved it twice already. So maybe you punks should show a little more respect!"

All of them burst out in laughter once again, causing Peter to splutter "hey, it's not, it's not funny you little assholes!"

"This is getting us nowhere" mutters Gamora as she steps forward and brings her hands together into a piercingly loud clap. The bullies stop laughing.

"Now that I have your attention" says Gamora, "leave this place and the child alone, or we will do it **for** you"

"Sure thing Gail" sneers the leader as he whips out a razor-sharp butterfly knife made out of a blue metal, "how about you just come and try."

"Oh wow" says Peter as he rubs the bridge of his nose. "Kid, that is the worst possible choice you could have made."

As the other five ready themselves, two of them slipping homemade brass knuckles onto their hands, Gamora's eyes circle between them, sizing them up. "Seriously" intones Peter, "it'll be better for the lot of you if ya'll just-"

-three of them charge straight at her-

"-leave" finishes Peter halfheartedly.

Gamora stands her ground, arms hanging loosely at her side as the three of them descend upon her. The first tries to strike her in the face but Gamora, using his own momentum against him, simply slides out of the way of his blow and, grabbing him by the arm, tosses him over her shoulder.

"That's one" comments Peter as the still stunned attacker comes to a skidding stop near his feet.

The next two attackers, sprinting at her from both the right and left, are caught totally by surprise as Gamora suddenly leaps into the air. Moving too fast to stop in time they both collide with each other head-on, causing them to tumble to the pavement in a heap. "That makes three" says Peter nonchalantly as Gamora lands gracefully back down onto the pavement.

"Are you going to get up here and help?" she asks over her shoulder.

Peter says "you seemed to have it covered already" as he nevertheless steps up to her side. "Just thought I'd let you have all the fun this time."

Number four and number five, both wearing brass knuckles, decide that now is the time to rush the both of them. Running up to him, Mr. Blue with all the tattoos takes a swipe at Peter's head, but he ducks out of the way in time. His second strike is blocked, Peter knocking away his left with his right, but a third belly strike slams home, knocking most of the air out of him. Laughing loudly, and perhaps a bit too confident, the blue faced bully isn't prepared when Peter suddenly rears back and clocks him hard across the face with a swift punch, sending him sprawling several feet away.

Wheezing, Peter turns to see Gamora patiently waiting for him, her attacker already defeated and his confiscated weapon in hand. Peter mutters "you're such a show off" as he collects the brass knuckles from his unconscious attacker, "but that does make it five."

His face somehow turning an even deeper shade red, the leader of his now fallen compatriots spins around, pointing his knife at the advancing Peter and Gamora. "Who the hell are you guys?" he asks in a terrified voice.

"I already told you" says Peter, puffing out his chest once again, "we're the Guardians of the-"

"-wait" breaks in a small voice, the four-armed child, completely forgotten in the chaos of the last minute. But now, he moves to stand between the three of them, holding an arm out to each.

"Move kid" exclaims Peter, "that guy's still got a knife!"

The child ignores him as he turns fully towards his would-be attacker and asks, in a surprisingly calm voice, "you said your father would hurt you if you didn't have a ball when he got back?"

"Uh, yeah, I didn't say that but it's true" answer the red-faced teenager, slowly lowering his knife to his side. "My pops, he was hurt bad on the job some time ago; since, he always got something to be angry with about me."

"I get that" answers the kid, "my dad lost his leg in the war. He's sometimes mean to mom and me, but I don't blame him, I'd be mad too if I couldn't walk no more."

They both stare at each other for several moments as Peter glances over at Gamora, who has a knowing look on her face as she watches what is happening unfold.

Finally, holding out the ball in his hands, the four-armed kid says "here, you can have this."

Small purple eyes opening wide in surprise, the red-faced teenager asks "what about your pops? Ain't he gonna be mad too when he gets back?"

"It's my ball" he answers simply.

Looking between both the ball and him, he hesitates for a moment before collecting it in his free hand. Then, flipping his knife closed, he holds it handle out to him and says "here, have this. You might need it in case... you know."

"Thanks" says the child, receiving it in one of his free hands, "and next time you should just try asking."

The red-faced teenager nods, a small smile gracing his crooked mouth as he turns away and disappears into the night, outside of the lights of the streetlamps.

Rolling his new knife around in his top most hand, the child turns towards Peter and Gamora and says "thank you for helping me, I thought I was going to be beat-up for sure."

"It was nothing kid" asserts Peter as he gently rubs the spot on his chest that was struck, already feeling the makings of a large bruise. "You shouldn't have given your stuff away though" he adds, "bullies never learn like that."

"Nonsense" counters Gamora as she walks up to the small child, beaming brightly, "sometimes it's the only way people can change. Through compassion. That was a very brave and mature thing you did young man, you should be proud of yourself."

"Thanks" he says as he turns away, before adding over his shoulder "and you're pretty cool for a filthy Zen-Whoberi."

And with that, he disappears once again into the night, outside of the lights of the streetlamps. Gamora stares after him, mouth open in surprise.

"I-I don't-what the-what the hell" splutters Peter as he too stares after him. "That kid, that kid called you a filthy-"

"-leave it Peter-"

"-even after we helped the little shit" he fumes, getting more and more angry with every word.

"Hey you, stay where you are" breaks in a stranger's voice, a park cop, with his partner running up beside him.

"Ah, good" exclaims Peter as he approaches the arriving officers, "maybe you all can scare some sense into that little idiot." Holding out his hands towards them in a beseeching gesture he says "we just saved a kid from getting beat up and he called my girlfriend-"

-the leading cop slaps a pair of handcuffs over his outstretched hands.

"Wait a minute, what the hell is this about" demands Peter, holding up his restrained hands in protest.

"Me and Glen saw the whole thing" explains Mark as his partner moves to place handcuffs on Gamora, "you beat up all five of these young men and then scared two more of them off!" Peter looks around to their five attackers, who are only now starting to pull themselves off the ground, and pleads "you've got it all wrong, they attacked us!"

"Oh really" asks Glen incredulously, "then why are the both of you the only ones carrying weapons?"

Looking down at his hands once again, he notices the forgotten brass knuckles gripped in his left palm. Beginning to argue again, he is instead cutoff by Gamora, who is complying as the officer also places restrains on her. "Just go along with it Pedro" she says, giving him a look that she hopes will not be misunderstood. "It is _best_ not to make a scene."

"Whatever you say, Gail my love" murmurs Peter as the two of them are led off together. Correcting Peter's course slightly as he tries to move out of the way of a possible side kick to the shins, Mark says "first the two thieves, then those two hippies down in the lake, and now these hooligans. What do you think has gotten into people tonight Glen?"

"Must be something in the water" he answers back, correcting Gamora's course slightly as one of her legs shoots out to connect with Peter's shin.

* * *

 **Section Five: Every Silver Lining**

 ** _Present Day_**

Peter steps out of the dark and into the brightly lit common room, Zune in hand. Turning his head towards the back of the ship and the sounds of voices he sees Groot standing in the frame of Rocket's room, busy in an animated conversation. Looking to his right, he sees Drax standing inside of Mantis's cabin, gesturing to something obscured by to him by his back. Gamora's door however, directly in front, is closed.

Limping around the table that takes up most of the middle of the room, Peter staggers over to the music player built into the Milano's bulkhead. It's wood paneling, meticulously repaired by the Nova Core years ago, still shines with most of its finely worn polish as Peter places his Zune into a jury-rigged receptacle installed by Rocket. As he searches his library for the right song, his eyes drift over to a small photograph taped to the wall off to the right of the modified tape deck. Its surface is dirty, and the old adhesive is only barely keeping it in place.

Finally finding the right song, Peter presses play and in the same moment, reaches over and pulls the photograph off the wall.

 **Awesome Mix Vol. 3:** The Grateful Dead - Touch of Grey

A clean silhouette, contrasting sharply with the grimy bulkhead, is the only evidence that it once hung there.

Placing the photograph gently into his jacket pocket, Peter hobbles towards the stairs to the cockpit and begins to pull himself up them.

* * *

 ** _Eleven Months Ago_**

"We've got a great place set up for you, here with all the other criminals" says Mark as he leads Peter and Gamora through the short hallway of the park's jail. The interior, brightly lit with lights recessed into the ceiling, draws strange shadows on Peter's face as he complains again "and I'm telling you man we ain't criminals! Just go ask" he pauses, thinking of who could vouch for him here. "Look, there's a guy at the park tonight, gray skin, a bunch of red tattoos, he'll tell you we're cool!"

"Pedro I wouldn't-" protests Gamora as the three of them stop before a large prison cell at the end of the hallway.

"-or how about someone else? A little furry guy with pointy ears, only a few feet tall. He kinda looks like-"

"-Peter!" exclaims Gamora as she finally manages to draw his attention away from Mark and towards her. With a short gesture of her head, she directs his gaze to the inhabitants of the cell.

All four his fellow Guardians of the Galaxy stare back out at him.

Drax, covered in mud from the waist down, looks at him with a curious expression while Mantis, also caked in dried mud, gawks with wide eyes, a large fish tank with one black and green occupant cradled in her hands. Rocket, a conspicuously empty duffel bag draped over his lap, smirks with self-satisfaction at them as Groot, oblivious to it all, waves happily.

"It's like I said" declares Mark, reaching out with a key to unlock the cell door, "we've got a nice spot for you here with all the other criminals."

As he throws the door open and they shuffle inside Peter begins to speak, but Gamora stops him short with a quick shake of her head.

"Welp, you all have fun in there" says Mark, locking the door after them. "The judge will see you in the morning, I'm sure he's going to have fun listening to you lot." Walking away back down the hallway, he adds over his shoulder "and don't even think about trying nothing stupid, we've got camera's where you wouldn't believe!" Peter glances over at the singular toilet in the corner of the ill-furbished cell and shudders slightly at the thought.

Drax begins to speak but Gamora cuts him off, this time with an outstretched hand, as she moves over to the thick iron bars of the door. Peering out of them, she waits until Mark has disappeared out of earshot before lowering it.

"Well ain't this a pleasant krutacking surprise" says Rocket before anyone else can get in another word. "What brings you two do-gooders here to our special little abode?"

"Well" says Peter, glancing over at Gamora for an instant, "we saved a kid from getting beat up by some bullies."

Drax, interrupting, asks "I did not know protecting the innocent was a crime on this planet?"

"It's not" answers Gamora, "the officers mistook the weapons we took from the attackers as our own."

"And the kid wasn't so innocent" continues Peter, an angry tone entering his voice.

"That's it?" asks Rocket.

"Not exactly" mutters Peter, "the bullies were also, you know... young adults - but hey Drax and Mantis, you both look like you've been through a lot?"

"Indeed, we engaged in a game of skill and were victorious" states Drax proudly, Mantis nodding in confirmation when he looks to her.

"And does your friend there have a name?" asks Peter.

"Her name is Mantis" chastises Drax angrily, "you've known her for an entire year Quill!"

"No, I mean the fish" retorts Peter, gesturing towards the small creature in the tank.

"He, is 'Water Friend'" chimes in Mantis.

"The name was my idea" adds Drax.

"Already kinda picked up on that" says Peter as he turns to Rocket and Groot.

"Now let me guess" interjects Rocket before Peter can ask anything, "you want to know how the both of us ended up here?"

"Not really, I assume you stole a bunch of stuff from some really nice people?"

If Rocket looks a little surprised, the emotion disappears from his face in an instant as he says, mockingly "oh you know me so well, don't you Quill?"

"Actually, I do" asserts Peter, "which is why I want to know why that bag on your lap is so empty?"

"What, they confiscated all my stuff" says Rocket with only a slight wavering in his voice.

"I **am** Groot."

"Why'd you tell em' that" hisses Rocket as Peter and Gamora share an incredulous look with each other.

"You gave it all back?" questions Gamora.

Rocket exclaims "look don't push me on it," before adding in a much quieter voice, "it's been a long night as is."

After several moments of silence Peter says, shaking his head in disbelief, "let me get this straight: Drax and Mantis are in here for, I assume, taking a fish out of Bathgu Lake given that they are literally covered in mud. And you and Groot are in here for stealing a bunch of stuff, which is actually about as surprising as the galaxy turning. But then you gave it all back?"

"And you and Gamora" retorts Rocket, "are in here for beating up a bunch of kids-"

"-young adults-"

"-and stealing their weapons, or something."

Peter and Rocket stare at each other, eyes locked for some time, before both of them, as if on cue, burst out in laughter. Drax immediately joins them, followed quickly by Mantis as she lays a hand on his shoulder. Gamora looks between all of them, a small smile on her face, while Groot hops up and down in excitement.

As the spontaneous laughter dies down and Rocket and Peter both wipe tears from their eyes, Gamora asks "so, how are we going to get out of this one?"

"Rocket?" asks Peter, as if finishing her sentence.

"Oh, don't you worry" he says, cracking his small knuckles. "I've escaped twenty-three prisons, I don't expect number twenty-four to be much of a challenge."

* * *

 ** _Present Day_**

In the cockpit of the Milano, off to the right of the stairs, Peter searches through a large drawer of loose items. Affectionately called the 'Dump Bin', it usually contains only the loose stuff floating around the ship that no one has bothered to put away or throw away. But this time, as he rifles through another stack of junk, Peter is looking for something important.

Over the muffled sounds of his music echoing up from the common room below, Peter hears the soft steps of booted feet on metal stairs. Still searching for what he came up here for, the footfalls come to a stop just behind him.

"How did you know I wanted to talk to you?" he asks of his unseen visitor.

"I know you" answers the voice, "and I know your music."

"Here it is" remarks Peter to himself as he removes an item from the bottom of the pile. Standing up slowly, bracing himself against the wall as he does so, he turns to face Gamora. Standing before him, dressed in garments anyone else would call conspicuous, she has her arms lowered at her sides.

"I don't want to be angry anymore" he begins, before adding "I mean, I don't want to be angry at you anymore. It doesn't, I don't feel good when I am." Gesturing towards his right leg he mutters "I've got enough reasons not to feel good."

"I don't want to be angry either" she says, her eyes flittering down to his leg.

"I mean, I still think you're wrong" says Peter as he takes several tentative steps away from the wall. "I still think that if we keep hunting after Thanos what happened to me will happen to the rest of us. That it'll happen to you." Coming to a halt before her he continues "I still think we should spend our time doing something else, actually helping people not just chasing after someone we can't put our hands on."

"And I still think you're wrong too" counters Gamora, keeping her eyes fixed on his only a few feet away. "That if we don't stop Thanos nothing else matters. No matter how many people we help along the way."

Silence for several moments.

"But you deserve better than my anger" concludes Peter, "because I know you. And I could never hate you."

"And if you still think you're right" says Gamora in return, "it's just because you're the man I know."

Peter holds out the picture and the small metal frame he had just retrieved out in front of him, Gamora looks at them in surprise. "I had forgotten about that" she comments as she takes the picture from his hand.

"Come on" he says, stepping past her and towards the stairs, "I want to put it back up where it belongs."

* * *

 ** _Eleven Months Ago_**

In a jovial mood, Mark, swinging the long key chain in his hand round and round, walks down the well-lit hallway and towards the farthest cell. "Welp" he says, nearing its end, "it's morning. Time for your hour before the judge-"

The key tumbles from his hand as he stands dumbstruck before the cell. Where last night six criminals had sat, now only a massive hole busted in outer wall greets him. As he stares in shock, his eyes drift over to a large etching in the debris just above the wrecked toilet.

 _Thanks for the Memories  
Thanks for the Candy  
Thanks for the Fish  
And Sorry About the Wall._

 _~oOo~_

The light of a sun still half an hour from rising is the only thing still providing illumination in the long since closed park as the Guardians of the Galaxy struggle to fit themselves into a small booth with a velvet curtain. In a space built for two or three, now six crowd in.

Reaching around his friends with Pedro's ID badge in hand, Peter stretches himself out as far as possible. With a superhuman effort of willpower, he manages to swipe it through the receptacle on the outside of the booth.

After a moment in time, a light flashes and the camera winks.

* * *

 ** _Present Day_**

With a final staggered footfall, Peter steps back down into the common room.

To his surprise, it is not empty.

Mantis and Drax sit in quiet meditation on the floor to the right of the center table.

Mantis, her hands folded in her lap, lights up the space around her head with the bright blue radiance of her illuminated antennas while Drax, only betraying his quiet meditative state with an occasional twitch of the eyebrow or mouth, sits with his arms simply crossed over a broad chest. In front of the large windows at the back of the Milano, Rocket and Groot throw homemade darts at a makeshift board made out of bark. Rocket has scratched small claw marks into the board as an indication of value, along with circular pen marks to set out their relative sizes.

Peter smiles unseen at this scene as he slides out of the way of Gamora. She stepps down off the stairs just after him.

As the both of them step up to the bulkhead with his tape-dock, Peter holds out his hand for the picture she has been examining. Before handing it to him, Gamora gently rubs it up against a portion of her undershirt. "There" she says, placing it in his hand, "it just needed a little cleaning up."

Looking at its now dust free surface, Peter moves his thumb back and forth over a small spot of grime in the upper left-hand corner, rubbing it off in only a few motions. "Now it's perfect" he says, sliding it into the frame, "there's nothing a little teamwork can't handle." Placing it onto the bulkhead, its magnetic backing affixes it firmly in place, with only a slight tweak needed to make it square and even.

Turing away from the picture and towards her he asks "we've got like, what, three days till we arrive at Ortus?"

"Seventy-five hours last time I checked."

"That sounds about right" comments Peter as he glances over his shoulder at the rest of the Guardians, "and it seems like everyone else already has got their own thing going on. So..."

"You think we should do something together" finishes Gamora for him.

"I mean, I've only got a couple hours of music on the Zune and I don't want to work on my mask the whole time and I've got several more bottles of Scanian Ale in my room so you know-"

"-no drinks, take your medicine," Gamora pauses for a moment, "and meet me up upstairs in thirty minutes. We'll count the stars and talk."

"Sounds good to me" exclaims Peter. "But, and I don't want to ruin it for you, I have heard there are quite a lot of them."

"Then we'll have plenty of time to talk" adds Gamora as she backs away from him and towards her room. "And do us both a favor, take a shower Peter, you're starting to smell like the floor of a Knowhere bar again."

"You _have_ been to all the places I've been" responds Peter as Gamora disappears inside of her room, the door closing after her with a soft thunk.

Peter stares after her vanished form for a moment before his gaze drifts over to the rest of his family, his Zune continuing to belt out the music.

 _"We will get by  
We will get by  
We will get by  
We will survive."_


End file.
